


Revelation

by SomeoneImSure



Series: Old Versions of T0RN [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Ancient Terrestrial Robotic Lifeforms, F/F, F/M, Fan Turned Transformer, Gen, M/M, Multi, Pretenders, Terrans are Earthlings Too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeoneImSure/pseuds/SomeoneImSure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU] Earth has a dark and secret history that only a select few on the planet know about. When the Autobots come to visit, they discover that some secrets are best left undiscovered... Sequel to Genesis.</p><p>"So, it's true what they say. People do more harm by sitting back and doing nothing then by actually trying to help."<br/>~ Killjoy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interface used in this chapter refers to platonic interfacing, such as trading information through a hardline between friends.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Prowl glanced over at his triadmate, his blue optics refocusing on the present as he turned to greet him. "Smokescreen, did you need something?"

"No, nothing for me."

The SIC moved away from the window and took one of the empty seats nearest to Smokescreen, throwing a leg over his knee in a show of flexibility which he was sure Smokescreen would appreciate though others might have found it a bit weird. Currently, the command deck was only manned only by the necessary and mandatory skeleton crew. Prowl preferred it that way; there were still a lot of social misinformation between the Praxians and all other Autobots, and though the crew had learned not to interrupt or criticize the relationship between Prowl and Smokescreen, they still didn't fully understand what that relationship entailed. It forced the two triadmates to remain on the down low, and Prowl was pretty sure they weren't the only triads suffering from this. Prowl sensed that trouble would eventually brew from it, but he was at a loss as to what to do to prevent it.

The current mission for a select group of Special Operatives was to investigate the planet the Ark was currently orbiting. Most everyone preferred to be present during the launch of the landing pods, worried about the dangerous that were hiding beneath the stratosphere of the planet below that they would be sending their teammates into. Despite the training and preparation of the Special Ops Agents specifically picked out for this mission, there was no guarantee that all of them would make it back alive. That instilled understanding of the dangers had everyone on edge, including Prowl. But Prowl knew that wasn't what was bothering him. Smokescreen knew that, too.

Smokescreen nodded at the planet, it's green, white and blue swirling colors were completely alien compared to the landscapes of grey and silver he was used to. "What do you think?"

Prowl furrowed his brow at his bond's question. "About what exactly? It is a standard atmospheric planet with abnormally high amounts of nitrogen, oxygen and trace elements of scandium present in the atmosphere."

"I meant about the mission," Smokescreen clarified, not taking his optics away from the planet but Prowl felt the flash of annoyance over the bond.

Prowl shifted in discomfort and glanced at the planet out of the corner of his optic before looking elsewhere. Neither Praxians could bring themselves to look at each other. Prowl could feel the wall which had slowly started to form between them over the bond, hiding their secrets from each other. Though they both answered directly to Optimus Prime, neither of them had the clearance to know everything about what each other did on a daily basis. Though their emotions remained open between them, both walls threatened to really damage their bond, which wouldn't do either of them any good. Prowl hated it and wanted nothing more than to tear it down, but he understood it was necessary. That didn't mean he had to like it.

"I would prefer to keep my opinions of this mission to myself," he said honestly.

"You don't think we're going to find anything down there."

It was more of a statement than a question. Prowl sensed Smokescreen's acceptance of the mission and the adamant determination to return unharmed, but Prowl just couldn't bring himself to believe Smokescreen could pull it off. It didn't help that neither of them actually knew what the end goal of the mission was or how it benefited the Autobot cause, and Prowl had no way to justify sending his triadmate into danger.

"You know me too well." He didn't try to hide his frustration. "I believe this to be a fool's errand. Our efforts could be better spent in other pursuits."

"Doing what?" Smokescreen kept his voice neutral.

Before they left Cybertron, Prowl had been the Captain of the Ark. The position allowed him to travel from planet to planet to gather energy for the front lines, while also remaining in close contact over unhackable Quantum Communication systems. It was purely to throw off the Decepticons about his true location. There had been too many attempts on his life during his time stationed on the planet simply for being a Tactical Officer, and shortly after promoting him to his new position as both Second-in-Command and Head of Tactis, Optimus Prime had deemed it would benefit everyone if their TacHead was not on Cybertron for the Decepticons to antagonize. Making him the Captain of the Ark, one of the most heavily defended and manned vessels in the Autobot's small fleet, had been the most logical step to that end goal.

But after Optimus Prime hijacked the vessel and set course for unknown solar systems, this seemed to only put a bigger target on the Ark and put all three of the highest ranking officers in the Autobot army in danger. The explanation Optimus Prime had given him when he first put pede on board was vague and unhelpful, since it seemed to really be a decision the Matrix had helped influence, and Optimus Prime was absolutely trusting of whatever the Matrix told him for reasons Prowl could not comprehend. What benefit was this decision going to grant them? How could the Autobots fight a war when the three highest ranking members were out gallivanting across the Galaxy? It made no  sense to him, and he knew that was probably because of a lack of information.

"We are currently running on half fuel, which isn't enough to make it back to Cybertron let alone supply our troops with necessary energon. We require energon and the star is abundant with all the sources that we need and then some to make it back to Cybertron and meet our quota. Then we can bolster our defense on Cybertron."

"It's not being away from Cybertron that's the problem, is it? After all, not all of Elite Guard came and the Wrecker's _did_ stay behind."

"Not all of the Elite Guard came, and the Wrecker's _did_ stay behind."

"Yes, and I am fully aware of the accomplishments which Impactor flaunts on a regular basis at meetings, despite them being against my recommendations for the exact same reasons which are always confirmed in the death reports. He cares very little for neutrals and commoners, even Autobot suppliers, and his reputation as a warrior is only backed by his failure as an 'ideal' General."

"I hope you don't say that to his face."

Prowl shifted. "I am careful to keep my admonishments civil when speaking to him over the communication channel."

"You've said it to his face, haven't you?"

"It is frustrating being the Commander of someone who does not take commands, suggestions or critique. I have always prayed to Primus that we would get a new commander for the Wreckers soon. My hopes are hung on Springer as his replacement."

"I am shocked you would have so much vitriol for an Autobot Commander."

"The Wreckers have never shared our views as Autobots and have always twisted the meaning at their leisure, and they have never really listened to orders. They are not Autobots. They are, at the best of times, cannonfodder."

Smokescreen glanced around but none of the skeleton crew were close enough to have overheard that comment, even though Prowl wasn't exactly being quiet about it. "What of the Elite Guard?"

"Do you trust Sentinel Prime enough to know how to actually run an army even though he's supposedly a pacifist?"

"Well, no, but that's a given. I meant what of the Optimus' Elite Guard that we left behind?"

"The Femme Division are admirable in their goals but they lack the firepower that the Wreckers are renown for. I can only hope they are working together or else we might not return to a civilization at all. As for the rest of the Elite Guard, you are aware of how Praxians are treated by the majority of Autobots? I have been trying to resolve the issue but it seemed to be a lost cause while the war is going on."

"Seems rather hopeless, doesn't it?" said Smokescreen thoughtfully. "Have you considered the possibility that there is something out here worth spending so much time and resources on, despite the potential drawbacks of doing so?"

"Yes, I have, which is the only reason I have approved the mission." Prowl sighed. "Sometimes I think I put too much faith in Optimus Prime."

Smokescreen was silent, his gaze having snapped to Prowl's face though Prowl hadn't noticed, too deep in thought.

"Are you..." Smokescreen was at a loss for words. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," said Prowl, giving his bonded his full attention as he felt the worry bleeding through the triadbond. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just that... I've never seen you question Optimus Prime before now."

Prowl flinched. "I would never leave the Autobots, not unless you want to leave."

"I feel the same," said Smokescreen, frowning slightly. "This conversation has gotten a bit more... uncertain than I was expecting it would get." He grew quiet. "I could tell you were upset. I thought it was just about the mission."

"I am always worried about every mission you are sent on."

"But this is deeper than the mission," said Smokescreen softly. "Is it between you and Optimus?"

"I am his Second-In-Command," Prowl said quietly. "He has barely told me anything."

"He told me that he was looking for evidence to confirm what the Matrix has told him about the solar system," said Smokescreen, "before he consults with you about what to do."

"Is that why he is sending you on this mission? For _evidence_?" Prowl actually sounded pained.

Smokescreen's optics widened. "No, he has the Science Division working on the evidence right now."

Prowl felt Smokescreen's comforting pulse over the bond, though he detected a hint of confusion. "You do not know why he is doing this?"

Smokescreen shrugged. "It's something to do with the Matrix."

Prowl grunted his agreement. "But that is not why you are up here, is it?"

Smokescreen nodded. "You _are_ aware that I've been put on the roster to go down to the surface, right?"

"Yes." Prowl had been partly responsible for creating that list, as Smokescreen and the others were the only ones with the highest likelihood of making it back in one piece, even though two of them were barely above rookie level. They all had outstanding skills in adaptation, which was necessary for going into unknown territory. That didn't mean he liked it.

"Well, this is a new world and we don't know what dangers could lie on this planet. Hypothetically, there could be an entire Decepticon army down there and going recklessly through the atmosphere would mean our instantaneous demise. Or it could be a peaceful, empty wasteland of a planet that holds nothing more than a few giant ferrivore organics."

Prowl didn't like where this was going. "Smokescreen," but he was stopped by a pulse through the bond and a upraised servo. He frowned at the gesture, feeling a bit of foreboding at what his triadmate was about to say.

"If it just so happens that I don't come back or die in the crash, I just want you to know that I love you, Prowl."

Prowl felt his spark lurch and he uncrossed his legs so he could lean forward. "You never had to say that, Smokescreen..."

"And it is because I love you that I need you to live on without me." His voice became quiet, soft and quiet and it made Prowl's spark flicker even more. "I saw what happened to the Praxians who lost their triad during the fall of Praxus. It drives a mech insane to suddenly lose the only two mechs in the world you're closest, too. I don't know if this would even work, but I don't want you giving up just because I'm dead or lost. You have to keep going and try to live as best you can without me. I know it's going to be hard, especially since we're the only two left..."

Prowl was quiet. He knew this wasn't something Smokescreen was saying just for his own benefit. They both knew that there greater things at stake than each other. He hated that Smokescreen felt honor bound to have this conversation, but Prowl couldn't bring himself to tell him to stop it. Prowl wondered how many times Smokescreen had wanted to say this to him but hadn't been able to because they simply hadn't had the time.

"I want you to be there when we win this war. I want you to see Cybertron back in its Golden Age so you can tell me about when you go to the Matrix."

Before the war, Prowl would never have considered himself particularly superstitious, but after meeting Optimus Prime and seeing first hand a dozen-and-a-half miracles that his battle computer could never have predicted and then some, he was inclined to believe there was an afterlife, if only on the off chance he could meet Rapidfire there. It was better than believe that they simply ceased to exist; it gave him something to hope for after his life was over with.

"You promise?" asked Smokescreen, a hint of desperation in his optics.

"I promise. I do not think suicide would be an option for me anyway."

Smokescreen cracked a smile at him. "You and me both."

Surprised, Prowl sent a pulse of warmth and love over the bond. "Do not tell me just empty words."

Prowl wanted to stand up and hug him, but that would probably not be well received by the crew. Though Praxians understood the desire and need to cuddle, sometimes publicly, a hug usually meant something far more private and intimate would follow. It was one public display of affection they'd had to give up since joining the Autobots. He transmitted his sentiment over the bond and Smokescreen returned it gratefully. Then they both silently stood and walked out, their shoulders so close they were touching, allowing their spark fields to intermingle intimately. It was the closest they could possibly be without lying together on a berth or hugging, and the only thing other non-Praxians would not find so disturbing.

Prowl walked Smokescreen to the door leading to the launching station. There were two guards at the entrance, their shoulder cannons, chevrons and doorwings marking them as survivors of Praxus. Smokescreen greeted them both amicably and Prowl nodded, his attention focused on Smokescreen. There was no one else around, which allowed Prowl a moment to relax. He tugged lightly on Smokescreen's doorwing to grab his attention and press his red chevron into Smokescreen's yellow one.

"Good luck," he said quietly.

"I don't believe in luck, Prowl. I make my own." Smokescreen pressed back into the touch. "I promise I'll be fine."

Prowl sent a pulse of love and anxiety over the bond, which Smokescreen sought to soothe with a return pulse. Prowl didn't feel much better about it, but he forced himself to stop thinking about all the possible scenarios where this could go wrong and turned away. A few seconds later, he entered the observation room overlooking the Special Ops Agents who were being prepared to enter their ejector pods at the launching station. A few other mechs were present to monitor the systems and double check that each mech was secured into their respective pod. Prowl watched Trailbreaker and Inferno lead Smokescreen to his own ejector pod and adjust the settings to accommodate Smokescreen's size and energon requirements. While watching, Prowl ran through the blueprints of the pod in his head and all the information on landing party results he had on file.

The ejector pods were designed to protect a bot who was entering a potentially dangerous atmosphere, as well as prevent the mech from getting singed upon entry no matter what angle they came in at. It was equipped with state of the art defensive capabilities that could survive the shock of landing and which could activate from internal controls, allowing a mech to scan the surface and defend himself without leaving the safety of the pod. Very few things could break the pod apart after it had landed; it had been tested thoroughly by a dozen bored Wreckers. The launching mechanisms had been field tested on other planets, ones which didn't have the thick atmosphere which prevented a ship's preliminary scans from scouting ahead for the landing squad. Despite the lack of information of the planet's surface, everyone was pretty confident that those inside would be safe, at least until they were released from the pod, and if they didn't hit anything potentially lethal on the way down. This didn't account for any possible malfunctions upon landing.

Prowl could calculate the likelihood that each pod could fail at some point or another, but without more data about the surface, he could not determine whether something else might kill or damage the mech after landing. There were too many unknowns and Prowl didn't like unknowns.

He glanced at the other occupants of the observation deck, his gaze lingering on Optimus Prime. Even if nothing bad happened, he decided that he was going to grill the Prime for answers. Why were they here, in a galaxy so far out of the way of the war? As far as the TacHead could tell, there was no real tactical benefit for being out here.

When the last of the Special Ops Agents were strapped in and the ejector pods were prepared to launch, Optimus Prime spoke. "I know we are a long way from home, but that doesn't make our efforts here any less important when it comes to restoring Cybertron. Down below could be many enemies with energon that we could use to help us back on Cybertron, or there could be many new allies that could help us in the war against the Decepticons. You're mission is to report back whatever you find, friend or foe, and we'll be waiting for your safe return. May the Thirteen be with you."

There were many solemn nods but most of the responses were muffled by the pods. Prowl noted each mech, memorizing their faces; Mirage, Hound, Bumblebee, Jazz, Smokescreen, and the two newer Agents, Mudflap and Beachbreak. Mudflap's twin, Skidds, knocked on Mudflap's pod and received a knock in return. With a nod, he joined the others at the doors, which closed with a solid and definitive _thunk_. Everyone was ready.

Optimus Prime said something to the two lead scientists of the Science Division, Wheeljack and Perceptor, recieving confirmation nods before giving the verbal command for launch. One by one, the pods disappeared and one Autobot face after another disappeared. Prowl felt his dread mounting with each thunderous _whoosh_ of a pod launching into the atmosphere, before finally Smokescreen, the last in the line up, disappeared towards the planets surface. A pulse through the bond reported that Smokescreen was okay and everything had gone well. It would be less than a breem before they all reached the surface and Prowl had no desire to stand around waiting for that second assuring pulse when Smokescreen landed. Instead, he turned his attention to Optimus Prime, hovering at the edge of the crowd as Optimus' smooth voice and friendly, open expression soothed the Autobots and encouraged to return to regular duties. The room emptied out, but Optimus Prime and his bodyguard remained behind. Pretty soon, Ironhide, Optimus and Prowl were all that remained.

"You wish to speak with me?" asked Optimus Prime, turning his attention to his Second-In-Command.

Prowl glanced pointedly at Ironhide, who huffed and dismissed himself. A flash of white and red paint from outside told him that the Chief Medical Officer was waiting for them to get done so he could make his report, as verbal and loud as it was going to be. The room was disturbingly quiet, filling him with unease. The overwhelming dread coupled with this new emotion was not doing him any favors and he hoped he would get the chance to recharge and defrag soon.

"Prowl?" asked Optimus Prime.

"I want an explanation," said the TacHead bluntly. "Why have you invested so much time and resources into investigating this planet? Why have you come aboard this ship and jeopardize it's original intention and put the entire Autobot faction in danger to come here?"

Optimus Prime was quiet, his calm optics staring thoughtfully at the usually emotionless Praxian who now stood trembling with anxiety before him. "I am sorry, Prowl, but I cannot answer that right now. I will have Perceptor compile a list of documents showing evidence of what I believe to be here so that you are up-to-date on these matters."

"Optimus Prime," Prowl said, in a reprimanding tone. Optimus Prime's optics widened in shock. "You have taken control of my ship, taken control of my crew, and sent us on a while mechanimal chase without telling us what mechanimal we are hunting for! I don't want an explanation at an unknown time in the future; I want an explanation last deca-orn."

Seeing his Second-In-Command do the closest he could possible get to an emotional outburst, Optimus Prime hesitated.

"Optimus," said Prowl softly. "Don't you trust me?"

After a pause, Optimus Prime's shoulders sagged. "I was afraid you wouldn't agree to do it if you didn't think I had substantial evidence for it."

Prowl was shocked. "Optimus..."

The Prime raised a hand, calling for silence and Prowl stopped. "It started with the Matrix, Prowl, but I knew better than to start hunting for something beyond our reach with the Matrix's outdated information. I asked Alpha Trion and he, more or less, agreed with the Matrix's assessment as well as tell me some things that the Matrix didn't know." He paused. "Are you familiar with ancient records of colony planets dated before the time of the Golden Age?"

"Yes, I am, but none of them are substantial evidence for this kind of thing."

Optimus Prime nodded. "That is true, but one of the oldest recordings of a colony being formed reports that three of the Thirteen left Cybertron and disappeared into deep space, dragging behind them the prisoner of war known as the Fallen. Alpha Trion believes those ancient text reference this sector of space. More recent documentation before the war was made by a scouting party of scientists who identified the remains of a hydroelectric dam in this sector on the ninth orbiting planet from the star."

"I see," said Prowl. "But why this planet?"

"This is something which Perceptor will share with us when he has completed compiling his report. However, that isn't the main reason why we are here."

"It is not?"

"No. We are here because I believe that this planet is one of the first colonies which left Cybertron all those years ago, the only one founded by three members of the Thirteen."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nameless pretender wakes up in a dead hero's body...

She didn’t have a name yet, but everyone so far had called her Rhythm. And she hated the name with a passion.

It belonged to a warrior of the Omnicon people, the right hand of the gestalt known to them as the Guardian. She died heroically in battle against the Insecticon forces while they were still young, and her body was later recycled by her still living lover. At least, she guessed they were lovers. Atlas never spilled on the details.

Guardian was comprised of the Omnibots, an elite group of Omnicon fighters designed to protect the planet Earth from all invaders. While they protected the Earth, the Omnicons could focus their efforts towards peaceful coexistance with nature and science. The Omnibots were usually on their own, but they had advanced battle computers and tactical training to help them win against any number of enemies, using the aid of guerrilla tactics that they usually made up on the fly. The Omnibots were a tight knit group of sisters, led by twins who almost never quarreled and who mediated between the groups and held them together like glue. Rhythm and Rhyme.

She was surprised the simulation had fooled her for so long. The entire simulation, for reasons she still hadn’t figured out, had gathered together information from three individuals to create the best training simulation. Using the memories of Atlas, the past life of Mercy Ferris, and the relationships of Rhythm, the training simulation had almost trapped her in its grasp, making it impossible for her to move her body of her own volition and save herself from the approaching Insecticon forces. Atlas hadn’t explained much of anything when she had woken up; he hadn’t think that humans retained memory of their deaths or transformations after they had become one with the Pretender chassis.

She remembered the confusing first moments of her rebirth, how she had immediately gone on a rampage to check and see if everyone she knew was alright. She had known even before she started her rampage across the country that they were already gone. _The Hivemaster has taken them_ , she had thought. Immediately once she had finished her rampaging, her ride across country, who was also her accidental killer, took her with him on a plane trip to the ex-Decepticons’ base in Taiwan. She hadn’t had the strength to resist.

The jumbo jet piloted itself. That was the first clue that it wasn’t Cybertronian. The empty captain’s chair told her that. It also told her that the mecha who piloted it was not a Pretender. And since he wasn’t a Pretender, he couldn’t be an Omnibot, Destron or Omnicon. And if he wasn’t any one of them, then he was an Outsider, an Off-worlder. She wondered briefly whether or not he was a ex-Decepticon, Autobot or Neutral, or if she even knew his name from the many television shows she watched as a child.

Before she could think too deeply on the matter of whether or not her TV show was also a part of the simulation training or if any more of it would share similarities with real life, she found herself gripping her makeshift desk, which was bolted to the floor, as the jumbo jet came in for a landing. She was almost grateful for it. A hologram captain wih Irish ancestry and bright blue eyes that glowed with unnatural light knocked politely at her door and asked her to please-come-out-right-now. He sounded like a parent trying to haggle with a child that wasn’t moving an inch and who had no idea how to convince the child that they couldn’t have desert until after lunch, and was half tempted to give it to them anyway just to shut them up. She said nothing to him but obeyed and left his cargo bay to where her killer waited for her.

Her death had been an accident. Reverb had hydroplaned while on the road in Nashville and tried to stop at a red light only to run her over. She had headed across the sidewalk towards her sister’s dorm when she saw her sister coming across towards her. She didn’t know why, maybe because she had her own dinner date that Rhythm hadn’t been aware of, when Reverb’s lights rapidly approached out of the fog. Rhythm hadn’t a second thought, and died because of it. The fresh pain of her injuries and the sight of her own blood painting the window in front of her danced at the edge of her sensors, haunted her nightmares. But she had never been afraid of falling asleep; she had complete control over her dreams ever since she was a kid. No, instead, it was just a daymare.

Now Reverb stood at the otherside of the platform, looking much more nervous than she did whenever she thought of meeting him. Rhythm had already forgive him for what he had done, having chalked it up to an accident. She felt nothing different around him than when she was around anyone else. He made sure that the conversations were short and information based, with both of them dancing around the topic of her death and any possible hope of forging a relationship between them. Rhythm found that she preferred it that way. She wanted something to do and emotional relationships would only get in the way. Besides, Cybertronians could last longer than humans could without any social contact. She guesstimated that it would take deca-orns to become insane. She was pretty sure she was missing some valuable information in her calculations, but it seemed reasonable enough.

Reverb led her towards the network of tunnels beneath the hollow mountain which had served as the Autobot base for the last fifty stellar cycles. No one spoke to her and she was okay with that, wanting to be left alone with her thoughts. The jumbo jet, Silverbolt, had transformed behind her, towering at nearly twice Reverb’s height, who was average for a Cybertronian grounder. The tall mech’s gaze stared into her backside as she disappeared, following the mottled gray mech who served as her guide.

Sometimes she recognized the winding tunnels, an old faint memory prickling at the edge of her subconsciousness. Once she thought it was the same network of tunnels she had used to get to her underwater base in the training simulation and other times it reminded her of the trails and tribulations she went through when her parents took her to Mammoth Cave. She had been a brat back then, though neither of her parents had spoiled her rotten. She had thought she was a rebellious teenager when she was only eight, as she thought she had the power to refuse to do anything. Her parents hadn’t know she was covering up her depression, and she never told them what happened to her at school. Her dog’s consecutive deaths didn’t help matters much.

The doors at the Autobot base opened in a swirl pattern. It looked like a razor sharp teeth swirling shut with a soft ominous _hiss_ that always made her jump. It was hard to return to her thoughts once they had scattered, even with her brain now computerized. She was fighting herself to do it. At any moment, she could be stepped on, run over by speeding vehicles, or just strain up die of heart failure. She was so small in a world of giants that she felt completely out of her depth speaking to any of them. Reverb by himself wasn’t intimidating, but she had quickly come to realize that what she had mistaken for an average Cybertronian grounder was actually a size somewhat larger than a minibot.

In the training simulation, she had been a minibot. At appearances, it seemed that was what the training simulation had been originally designed for – getting her acquainted with her new body. That revelation made her worry that she might be unable to fully cope living in a world of giants. She didn’t know she was right, but for an entirely different reason.

A few modifications by her own meddling and self-defense programming, plus Atlas’ own reprogramming, had thrown a wrench into the original plan, causing the Hivemaster to register the improper programming and get involved. Who knew what damage the modified programming had caused her considering the rape she had mentally suffered and the murder she had not really committed. It might have been a simulation, but those emotions had been real. She regretted them.

 _Of course, if I told anyone,_ she thought bitterly _, they’d think I had done it to myself on purpose._ She hated the idea that this simulation, which was so similar to a dream, had escaped her control. But she was also fully aware that most men and women blamed the victim for a rape and since she had no desire to gather up any pity from those who would believe, she decided to never speak of it. It would be a breech in her security if she told anyone.

Rhythm was almost grateful that she had been buried in her tomb at the time, afraid that the Hivemaster would have done more than control her dreams. According to Reverb, the Hivemaster had simply wanted her to be there in order to protect her from the Insecticons, but the Hivemaster thought doing so meant keeping her where she was. Except where she was was exactly where all the Insecticons would be looking for her. It didn’t answer why.

They arrived in the medbay. Rhythm couldn’t get over the strange familiarity of the place. It was like she was suddenly looking at a room in her house from an entirely new angle. She recognized the medbay as the one she had woken up in during the simulation. _It’s happening again!_

She pushed the thought aside and carefully made her expression blank as she looked expectantly at the two other mecha she recognized from the simulation. Atlas, the phantom mech she witnessed in the last few minutes of the simulation, and Darklight, the neutral that had been really a Decepticon spy who planned to sell his own bonded for his peace, both of whom were completely different people outside the simulation. Rhythm had thought Atlas was some sort of war hero but was actually an ex-con, and Rhythm had thought Darklight was a male mech who was cheating on his bonded but was actually a female mech cheating on her husband with a disgruntled neutral pleasurebot.

“This will be your new body,” Atlas told her in plain English, gesturing to the black-and-white Praxian-esque form on the berth. Four other berths were occupied with what looked like Vehicons, but she hadn’t recognized them like she had at the end of her simulation, when Atlas had sent her a message through the communication link. When she looked at her body, she felt a kinship with it and something akin to disgust for a reason she couldn’t yet put into words. It was frustrating, because she knew it was important but couldn’t figure out what it was.

Then she realized that neither of the two mechs had introduced themselves. The lack of curtsey from mecha she recognized was startlingly similar to the many discourteous looks she had received from various Cybertronians on the way there. She had a sneaking suspicion that no one liked her, but she couldn’t put a digit on why.

When he did not get a response, he looked at Reverb. “Get her up on the berth.”

With a hurried carelessness born of shot nerves, the mottled gray mech stooped down and scooped her into his palm, before pushing her off his palm and onto Rhythm’s chest. It hadn’t hurt, but the feeling made her dizzy. She felt her sense of kinship grow stronger and was distracted from raising much of a protest.

She was standing on the chest near the open chassis where the spark chamber should have been. She remembered another body, torn open and colored three shades of gray, lying down in the middle of a forest and turning slowly gunmetal gray. She could not bring herself to look at Reverb with that image in her mind.

Stepping up to the open chassis, she felt an itching need to do something suddenly wash over her. Her baser programming, born from something left over by the simulation, niggled at her mind.

It took her a moment to realize what it was. She wanted to transform. But she was a pretender, and pretenders didn’t transform into anything.

 _Unless they were designed to be targetmasters,_ she thought dryly.

 _Or powermasters_ , said a voice that sounded like hers but wasn’t. _Or brainmasters._

With that in mind, she stepped into the gap in the armor and transformed, suddenly keenly aware of a servo stopping short of touching her. It caused her energon pump to race unexpectedly, before settling down as she settled into the midst of Rhythm’s remains.

It was an instant after she had connected securely into Rhythm’s body that she realized her name could not, would not, and should never be Rhythm. Because in the instant the connection was made, she met the real Rhythm.

Rhythm wasn’t cool or laid back like Jazz and was the exact opposite of Prowl when it came to intelligence. She had street smarts, though, and she knew how to talk her way out of any situation. It was the only skill she had, but she used it to the advantage of the tactical-minded Omnibots, and it was only because of this unique ability that had made her the right hand of Guardian. Otherwise, the amicable Rhythm dare-deviled her way through the days, goofing off and acting like the youngest member of the Omnibots even though she and Rhyme were their elder. She knew when to get serious, but kept up a calm and friendly exterior, even towards her enemies. She taught all the other Omnibots how to defend themselves or get out of a trap or cuffs when it was required. The pretender noted that Rhythm had little to no skills in medical training and left most of that to the Omnicons and Rhyme. Rhythm was the exact opposite of the Pretender, except when it came to sacrificing herself for her sisters.

She also knew that Rhythm had no love of Atlas, even though Rhythm was fully aware that Atlas had loved her. She had never mentioned it to the mech, mostly because she believed they both understood her feelings about the whole thing. She had thought he would be a leader and hero in her stead when she had passed away but that had never come to pass.

The pretender could sort through Rhythm’s memories at lightning speed, and what she found out about Atlas’ past disturbed her. When he became a Decepticon, hired right off the streets of Kaon when he was still an Enforcer of unusual size, he started out as a data clerk, digging up information that could be used against the Council when the time was right. He worked closely with someone who sounded suspiciously like Soundwave, before the arrival of new technologies and Orion Pax made his research obsolete. However, it did not stop him from searching for more information even though the Decepticon proto-organization had reassigned him elsewhere, in the city of Praxis. Then he did something terrible that he regretted and later ran away from. And he mentioned something about something he had to protect. The pretender suspected what it was, but she had no evidence to be sure.

“Rhythm?” she prodded the dead mech’s mind, half expecting for the ghost of Rhythm to rise up and half expecting her to be dead as a doornail and for nothing to happen. The silence was disturbing, but then she remembered that Rhythm was dead, even though her personality programming was right at her fingertips and seemed ready to activate at the flick of a switch. She had to extract the personality by wire and download it into a closed file just so she could move into the new body.

She marveled at the control she had over every part of her new body. If she did not desire to move, she wouldn’t even vent. She had nothing that served as a human’s lungs but tubes carrying currents of air spready out like nerves throughout her entire body, aiding to purify the energon that entered her energon pumps. She knew there had to be a reason Cybertronians needed air, but wondered if water could suffice as placement.

 _I’m wasting time_ , she told herself, irked. She finished pushing out Rhythm’s personality, gripped by her baser programming to do so, and slipped into place completely. A few of Rhythm’s old protective virus activated once she had settled in, defending her mind like it had its old master. None of the viruses were made by Rhythm, but had been the creations of another Omnibot team member called Hex. The mental familiarity between the Omnibots was disturbing; their platonic ‘interfacing’ seemed common place from wherever they came from. And the Omnibots didn’t originate from Earth. They weren’t pretenders. They were descendants of a mech named Thundertron, who seemed to be a legitimate Lord Protectorate of Cybertron many generations ago. Rhythm knew nothing else about him.

It made her realize just how unnatural she was, and how alone she was in her own head. She doubted Rhythm would have hated her if she knew she was a pretender; Rhythm’s sworn duty had been to protect the planet’s inhabitants, regardless of the forms they took. Humans had been under her protection as well and she had found the littler ones charming. But Rhythm could never have said the same for everyone else, and Rhythm herself had never believed that humans had real intelligence. Only Rhyme did, but she did not know the extent of their intelligence. She saw them as little bit more than dogs. It was the spark signature that they emitted which interested her more. And it was because of that spark signature that the Omnibots had called the humans their little plasma brothers.

And Atlas had just killed a little plasma brother in order to restore Rhythm to life, and in so doing had failed to bring her back to life.

 _Did the Omnicons tell the outsiders that they were once human?_ she wondered. Rhythm had known that little piece of information, but had never really understood what it actually meant. She just thought that the Vehicons had the personalities and the humans were just the sparks. She had told Atlas as much, but Atlas seemed to have misunderstood her. And misunderstanding someone who didn’t even understand it herself always led to disaster.

This messed up world needed so much done to dig it out of this hole. There were so many problems and she had so little influence over them all. How can one person fight the world and change their views? She could face entire armies of Insecticons in her dreams, but to fight against the cultures and assumptions of others in the real world was more daunting a task than she wanted to admit. But right now, she was the only one who knew that something needed to be done about it.

When she finally came into wakefulness, she was met with Atlas’ loving gaze. She did not forget that he had been more than eager to sacrifice a human to bring back the life of someone he had loved. She hated him for it. And she hated him, pretending that he was a Prime, even if by accident. She recalled no instance when he tried to deny he was one, and he never displayed any evidence that he was one. He was a fraud and a big disappointment.

“What have you done?” she said, falling into the role of being Rhythm with horrifying ease. Her voice was soft, but it didn’t sound like Rhythm’s or Mercy’s. It was a baritone. Just like it had been in the simulation.

He seemed surprised. “I had to put you back together again,” he said, guessing wrongly at what she meant. “A few of your parts belonged to the Destrons. I simply recycled them for this instance.” He studied her, face carefully blank.

She stood up, wondering for a moment whether she should ask him. She didn’t know what to say to him, or even ask him. “Does the designation Killjoy mean anything to you?”

It was a name she had called herself in the simulation, even though the simulation had wanted to call her Rhythm. She had rejected that name then and had called herself Killjoy, but wanted to be extra sure that she had come up with the name and hadn’t been something Atlas used in the memory.

“No, it doesn’t,” he said, slightly confused but sincere. “Was he a Destron you fought in the old wars?”

“No,” she said, relieved. “It’s my designation.”

“What?” he said, startled. “Your designation is Rhythm.”

She stood up, trying to keep her fury under control. She moved slowly and gracefully, the way Rhythm did when she was alive, and silently cursed her for it. “No. That was _her_ designation. I am inside her body now.”

Killjoy watched Atlas expression morph from one of horror to one of absolute sorrow. Out of the corner of her optic, she saw Reverb tremble in terror and Darklight wrapping an arm around him protectively.

“I don’t understand,” Atlas said, genuinely confused. “The programming doesn’t copy memories from the organic body. You’re a newspark.”

“But the spark has its own memory,” Killjoy reminded him, quoting Rhythm’s well-remembered quote from Rhyme. “And I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“I don’t believe this,” Atlas said. “Even if you aren’t Rhythm, you have all her memories and experiences. Therefore, you are _like_ her.”

Killjoy just stared at him. “And why should that matter?”

“Because it means you can protect Earth now,” Atlas said, “from the Insecticons and the growing infestation of primitive robotics.”

“What of the Omnicons?”

“They are sworn to peaceful ways and have hidden beneath the surface. They won’t help in matters of violence and war.”

“You are an ex-Decepticon, right?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“And you have sworn yourself to peace?”

“Yes, I have. But Rhythm-”

“Killjoy.”

“Killjoy. What does that have to do with anything?”

The black and white mech stared at Atlas as if he had grown a second head. “I have never met someone so blinded by their own arrogant stupidity as you are.” She snorted. “You claim to have gone to peaceful ways but you seek out those who use violent means to achieve an end that is to garranteed to be peaceful. I suppose the teachings of a wannabe tyrant are too hard to forget for one as old as you.”

“What?” Atlas didn’t sound insulted, he sounded confused and suspicious. It was the kind of suspicious that quickly bled to terror. “How could you know that?”

Not understanding what _that_ meant, Killjoy ignored him and looked at Reverb. “And are you the one who orchestrated my demise in order to see this through?”

If Reverb could swallow he would have, but he shifted nervously and nodded. Darklight was tucked under his arm. “Yes, I am.”

“And you, carrier,” she began, “were bonded to someone else before him, were you not?”

“Yes, I was,” Darklight said, confused. “But what matters about that?”

“Only in the sense that I do not understand how you could break a bond,” Killjoy said, ignoring Atlas who had gone silent and was watching them as if he expected Killjoy to stop joking and was feeling more dreadful the longer Killjoy spoke. “Does time fade bonds?”

“No,” Darklight said, speaking like someone who wasn’t sure she should be talking about what she was talking about right now. “But a bond can be rejected.”

“How painful that must have been for you,” Killjoy said, without any malice.

“It was,” Darklight said, her optics clouding as she wrapped her arms around Reverb and fell silent.

Killjoy watched her for a moment longer, realizing that it was probably uncomfortable to talk about her past. She made a mental note to be more considerate the next time they talked. But she found Darklight’s suffering satisfactory. _Some justice still exists in the universe after all,_ she mused, looking at Atlas.

“Atlas, was it?” she said, but she said that last bit without even looking for confirmation. “I did receive your message and without your help I would never have gotten out of the simulation. So I thank you for that. However, I am fully aware that none of this would have happened to me if you had simply let Rhythm go. I will _never_ forget that you killed a living sentient being to bring back someone, especially because both of them sacrificed themselves in the end. You have made both of their deaths meaningless.”

Atlas didn’t say anything, shocked. The silence stretched on for a long while. Killjoy decided that it was time to take her leave. She pulled out the medical wires from her joints and neck, and stood up, fully expecting someone to stop her. No one else moved.

It made her feel weird, like she was a freak on display. She internally winced, knowing how close that actually was. Externally, her face was something akin to disappointment. But it was suddenly hard to tell if that emotion was hers or Rhythm’s.

“Where are you going to go?” Atlas said, suddenly with fear.

“Away,” she said simply. “At any rate, I’m not your responsibility. You’ve absolved yourself of any responsibility for my planet by reviving Rhythm. What makes you think you have any responsibility over me?”

Atlas opened his mouth but had no idea what to say to that. Killjoy nodded, coldly furious.

“This is good-bye. For forever. I don’t want to see you again. Ever. Don’t try to stop me. You’ll only make this harder on yourself.”

Killjoy stormed out. Elsewhere, five meteors landed under the cover of a tornado storm, on the other side of the planet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smokescreen lands on the surface...

The natural pale light of the planet's satellite glowed down on an otherwise dark world when Smokescreen landed on the planet. It was still dark in the joor it took him unlatch the door on his pod and kick the thing open, with an amused wince at the loud noise it made as it crashed into the organic growths surrounding him. He didn't wait around for someone to come find him, packing up his few supplies of ammunition and energon before picking his way through the shrubbery in a vain attempt to not make so much noise. The massive organic growth around him remained silent, but he couldn't tell if that was a good thing or bad and just shrugged it off as him having scared the native organics away.

When he was far enough away from the crash site to finally feel safe enough to contact the rest of his squad, he found himself pausing as he absorbed the sight of primitive organic based structures. The granite cliffs on the inner side of the ravine were littered with carved structures which might have once belonged to semi-intelligent organic creatures, especially since a few of the structures featured flat planes of glass. A handful of upright organics of various sizes in organic cloth were clustered around the front of the structure, navigating the buildings as if it was the first time they had laid eyes on the structure. The system's star had already climbed part way up the sky, marking the earliest hours of the day.

It didn't hold his attention for very long, however, as training took over and he hid himself from the organic creatures before they had a chance to glance his way and see him. He saw parts of the building that could be seen in spaces between the flat optic-shaped green shapes sprouting from the stiff organic growths around him, and what he saw made him quickly dismiss the structure as a viable place to stay. In fact, the whole area stretching around the buildings for kliks were probably not safe. He quickly moved on, his doorwings open to areas unpopulated by the primitive creatures and safe for him to open his quantum communicator to his squad commander.

The solar system's star creep across the sky and started to drop beyond the horizon when Smokescreen finally came to an area, surrounded on all side by the organic growths, and untouched by the upright organics for miles around. He opened his communication link. No one had a chance to hack into the quantum comms. without an atom vibrating at the same frequency as the one that was tapping out information into the others quantum links, which could only have been acquired at the time of the comm link's creation. It was the safest way to communicate on special ops missions, and the only way to communicate to the ship. Smokescreen's personal quantum communicator did not work on the same frequency as the one back on the ship – the only ones who could contact the ship was Jazz, Mirage and Beachbreak, and only because they were ranked in that order.

::This is Smokescreen to Squad Leader,:: he said, hunkered down behind a rise in the ground and watching the still sentinels as overpowering starlight beamed down on him from above. ::Reporting for duty, sir.::

He didn't expect a response immediately; there was no telling what Jazz was doing at that exact moment. Most likely it was put on a voice message system for him to view when he wasn't busy trying to find some place to hunker down in. The gambler pulled out a few stolen goods from the ship, which mostly consisted of a stack of hexogonal-shaped thin steel sheets with colored brand on them and some stencil markings, and also some munchies in the form of energon sticks and chips. He only had to wait a sixth of a joor before he received Jazz's response.

::This is Squad Leader,:: the third in command's familiar voice rumbled. ::What's shakin'?::

::Beyond these organic growths?:: came the dry response from Mirage, the lieutenant's disgusted under tone making Smokescreen smirk.

::I'm playing a game of Nova Blaster with myself here,:: said Smokescreen with a mock pitiful whine. ::What took you guys _so_ long?::

::You actually know how to play that game by yourself?:: Mirage said, feigning being impressed. Smokescreen sent a beep through the communication links which was similar to him immaturely sticking his tongue out. Mirage huffed, amusement disguised beneath his regular affronted air.

::Chill, mechs,:: Jazz interjected smoothly, his amusement leaking through. ::What's the situation?::

Bumblebee beeped a response, ::There's a lot of primitive organic creatures around here,:: he said, with a hint of worry. ::It's hard to find a spot around here where I won't get noticed. You guys have the same problem?::

::No,:: said Mirage, his voice becoming more neutral, ::I have not seen any organic creatures since I landed.::

::I've seen a few buildings with a few organics populating them,:: responded Smokescreen, relaying a binary image of the scene to his comrades post-haste.

::Primitive,:: said Mirage, though he didn't sound either impressed or disgusted.

::I have a few more buildings in this area. They seem to be made out of more metallic compounds and aren't fashioned from mud. Also, there are a few machines running around here.:: Bumblebee relayed his own binary pictures to them.

Images of a city-esque landscape entered his mind, with a gray palette instead of a brown one that the structure he had scene had. It was on the horizon, with a few up close pictures of a few of the outlier buildings, and a lot of mechanical creations with scans attached. Smokescreen couldn't bring himself to like the selections.

::Are they intelligent?:: asked Jazz.

::The machines have nothing that even resembles our neural processors,:: Bumblebee said, slightly disappointed. ::Or our sparks. They have primitive versions of nearly everything else, though, with no transformation cogs.::

::Perhaps the intelligence behind their creation are the organics,:: said Hound, logging on. ::Did I miss anything?::

::Just a few binary pictures,:: Mirage assured him, in a tone that suggested he didn't miss anything at all.

::And a rousing game of Nova Blaster,:: Smokescreen added. ::Wanna join in?::

::I'd love to,:: said Hound, obviously bored.

::I second it!:: said Bumblebee.

::You know how much I love your betting pools,:: said Mirage without any trace of said love, ::but I am going to have to decline.::

::Mechs, focus,:: said Jazz with the barest hint of a reprimand. ::Anyone seen or heard from Mudflap or Beachbreak?::

::No,:: said Smokescreen, even as he relayed a digital game of Nova Blaster to the others, immediately receiving various responses from the new players.

::Negative,:: said Bumblebee, silently scrutinizing his cards.

::Neither have I,:: said Mirage.

::Nope,:: added Hound. ::Check, please.::

::They can handle themselves,:: said Smokescreen. ::Beachbreak is your second lieutenant for a reason, and Mudflap was a frontliner before he was put on your Ops Team. They'll both be fine.::

::I don't doubt it,:: said Jazz. ::Deal me in.::

The digital betting pool was quickly set up with each of them taking turns at being the digital dealer. Smokescreen and Jazz tied for first place most of the time, with Bumblebee and Hound sneaking in a win here and there. Bumblebee, being the more conservative player, had the most chips throughout the whole game, up to the point where Jazz called an end to the game.

::Right, it's time we started to form up,:: he said.

::Wait, what about Mudflap and Beachbreak?:: Bumblebee asked, confused.

::We can't wait up for them anymore,:: said Jazz, tensely. ::We've got a job to do. Hound, you're with me. Mirage, Bumblebee, you're to protect our resident tactician.::

::Aw, I'm touched that you care,:: teased Smokescreen, before dissolving into seriousness. ::Send me your locations and I'll navigate you to the rendezvous point.::

::Okay,:: said Bumblebee, as he transmitted his coordinates and received his orders. ::I'll see you guys later.::

::Stay on the comms,:: commanded Mirage before the minibot could log off. ::Until we know what's happening on Mudflap's and Beachbreak's end, we do not want to be off each other's radar.::

::Agreed,:: said Jazz. ::Ya'll have yer orders. Stay in touch.::

::Yes, Creator,:: said Smokescreen, earning a half-amused beep from Jazz. ::You still don't want to play, Mirage?::

::I never liked Nova Prime,:: said the towerling, ::and I don't intend to play any games he created.::

Smokescreen sent a digital shrug. ::Suit yourself.::

It was dark again by the time the three Cybertronians had gathered together underneath the rise. Smokescreen had put away his toys in favor of adopting a more serious atmosphere.

::Any news on our two wayward sparks?:: he sent to Mirage, even though the mech was beside him. No one wanted to speak in the strange, silent stillness of the forest.

::Nothing,:: said Mirage. He didn't have to say the possibility that they both might be dead.

::All the more reason to be more cautious. Let's join up and begin a search for them,:: said Jazz, remaining grim. It perhaps, would be unusual for someone outside of their squad to see Jazz less than his perky self, but Mirage and the others were used to it. It was necessary for the job. ::. Perhaps we can learn something new about the possible threats on this planets from them.::

Smokescreen glanced at Bumblebee. ::Does anyone remember their landing trajectories?::

Instantly, he received four identical coordinates for Beachbreak, with only two conflicting ones for Mudflap. It wasn't a surprise to Smokescreen; Beachbreak was much more talkative than Mudflap, and it was difficult to locate a bot when they didn't use their comms. All they had was their last known location, and for Beachbreak, it was going to be much easier to locate him.

::We'll go after Beachbreak,:: said Smokescreen at last, sending an approximate location of Mudflap to Jazz. ::We'll join you in the hunt for Flaps later.::

::Alright,:: said Jazz in approval. ::See ya in a bit.::

Smokescreen looked expectantly at Mirage, who's optics had gone dark in thought. When Mirage nodded, he gestured for Bumblebee to be behind them, with Smokescreen directly behind Mirage, who turned invisible in order to scout ahead. Smokescreen's sensitive doorwings picked up traces of the spy, and though he wasn't as good a tracker as Hound, it served them well enough while Mirage remained within a hundred feet of them. It took them a joor and a half to finally catch sight of Beachbreak's landing pod, and the sun had started to come out from behind the opposite horizon.

::Stay put a moment,:: said Mirage.

Bumblebee marveled at the sight of reds and blues of the sunrise while Smokescreen paced, trying to not make a sound as his doorwings constantly swept the area around them. He registered immediately when Mirage came into view, even though the white and blue mech was invisible. The towerling didn't say anything aloud, a silent command to remain perfectly still and silent.

::Beachbreak seems to have escape his pod intact,:: he reported. ::But _something_ came sniffing around his pod afterwards.::

::'Something'?:: asked Smokescreen, desiring clarification.

::You'll have to see this for yourself,:: Mirage said, unhappy with his inability to describe it. ::We'll be right behind you.::

The Praxian's doorwings flicked thoughtfully, but he bent his helm to backtracking Mirage's pedeprints, his doorwings registering Bumblebee and Mirage moving into position behind him. The new tension in the air and Mirage's ominous report had them all on higher alert, but none of them could have expected what lay in front of them.

In all honesty, Smokescreen couldn't figure out how Mirage came to the conclusion he had. The pod looked wrecked, as if some intelligent scavenger had come along and torn the entire thing into manageable pieces and run off with the spoils. There was no sign of Beachbreak being alive or dead, but there was plenty of coolant, energon, and claw marks everywhere, plus a few robotic limbs that were so jointed that they looked completely foreign.

::That's Cybertronian alloy,:: hissed Bumblebee over the comms. ::What could have slagged it so badly?::

::It looks like a giant Turbofox tore into it,:: reported Mirage. ::But the claw marks are all wrong; there is only one claw on each pede. It might be a giant bug.::

Smokescreen felt a chill sweep through his circuits and he shuddered internally. ::Arachnid?:: No one had heard anything about that batty science experiment since after they had lost the Allspark, presumably in search of the artifact itself. Though Smokescreen wasn't sure he was ready to contemplate the idea that the Allspark might be on the planet. There was no telling what Arachnid could have created from it when they weren't looking.

::Perhaps,:: said Mirage. ::I do not know enough about her pedeprints to determine that accurately.::

The diversionary tactician nodded. ::Let's hope not. I don't want to contemplate any reason _she_ might be here. Can you spy Beachbreak's tracks?::

Bumblebee muttered something in agreement, and Mirage huffed at Smokescreen's use of spy. ::Don't insult me.::

Smokescreen grinned at the grumpy spy, but the seriousness of the situation made the emotion brief. He was already calculating the dimensions of the thing that could have been here, and the size wasn't matching any known description of the Arachnid, but that didn't mean much. It wasn't unheard of for a Cybertronian to lose or put on size in order to adapt to a planet, especially without a ship or proper energon supply around to support their regular sizes and forms. But that didn't explain why the whatever it was seemed to weigh more than the seemingly smaller size would support. He determined that there was only a slim chance it was Arachnid.

::Bee, keep your eyes peeled for anything big,:: warned Smokescreen, earning an affirmative from the minibot.

::How big are we talkin' here?:: came Jazz's sudden intrusion over the comms, and from his tone Smokescreen knew that whatever the third-in-command was looking at, it didn't bode well for the rest of them.

::About three tons of metal, with a small radius of insectoid limbs,:: responded Mirage, and Smokescreen sent his analysis over to Jazz, knowing Mirage was doing the same.

::It's not Arachnid,:: confirmed Jazz. ::This is somethin' much bigger.::

The three bots paused, staring at the forest as if they expected the whatever it was to appear right then. The tension practically cracked across their frames.

::New orders?:: asked Smokescreen.

Jazz would never have interrupted their comm. chatter unless he was giving out new orders. ::Rendezvous at these coordinates. We'll be comin' towards ya, and meet ya there. Jazz out.::

* * *

The spot Jazz had picked was surrounded on all sides by the tall, thick organic growths. They stretched out in all directions with the yellow starlight filtered through the green spade shaped growths and thick bushes which crunched uncomfortably under pede. Smokescreen monitored the game over the comm. lines, which was going slowly due to everyone else being distracted. He frowned at the general mood of the party, not sure whether it was a good idea to ease the tension. A crashing of pedes further away revealed the other party, Jazz and Hound materializing out of thin air a moment later, neither of them looking too pleased. Mudflap was nowhere to be found.

::News?:: Bumblebee sent over the quantum comms.

::Mudflap is dead,:: said Jazz, apologetically. Mirage placed a hand on Bumblebee's shoulder, and a moment of silence settled over them at the loss of their comrade. ::Something tore him apart while he was stuck in the pod.::

::Is it the same thing that attacked Beachbreak's pod?:: asked Mirage.

::Yes,:: reported Hound. ::Whatever it is can fly.::

The grim news drew everyone's attention.

::How do you know?:: asked Smokescreen.

::The tracks disappeared outside of the crater,:: reported Hound, ::and they weren't smeared so it definitely didn't leap.::

Smokescreen shuddered. ::Just what we need. An unknown variable.:: They were practically the banes of a tacticians existence.

::We knew this mission had its risks,:: said Jazz. ::Let's make sure Flaps didn't die in vain.::

::Are we going to look for Beachbreak?:: asked Smokescreen, suppressing his own desire to find his comrade right now before something horrible happens to him.

::Beachbreak maybe small but he can survive on his own for a while,:: said Jazz. ::Let's look for this insectoid. It's our best bet of finding him, in the long run.::

The rest of the squad nodded at this news, agreeing, but something told Smokescreen that this whatever-it-was was the least of their problems. After all, a scavenger wasn't a predator.

It was prey.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Logic and reason once worked hand-in-hand. In human societies, reason gave birth to logic, which transformed into rigid logic and logical fallacy with the introduction of computers. Naturally, it's easy to assume that a species made entirely of computers would be more inclined to understand logic than reason.

The truth was that Cybertronians used the terms 'logic' and 'reason' interchangeably, like humans once did. Well, humans still do sometimes even though its technically incorrect, but Cybertronians have the exact same definition for each word. To them, logical fallacy was called reasoning fallacy. They did not suffer from sensational language - it was matter-of-fact, exact and (to us) translated more accurately into the more proper and less descriptive textbook language of the 1700s and 1800s. They never had to deal with logical fallacies like Misleading Vividness, Erosion of Definition, and Straw Man. So while 'reasoning fallacy' made no sense to us, it made perfect sense to them.

But the lack of sensationalism (and imagination) in language was balanced out by the ability to platonically interface. Images, emotions and meanings without words were transferred from one person to the other without the need for explanation, it was so _thorough_. Invasive, even.

What Prowl had been asking of the Prime was to share with a moment that neither of them could accurately describe. It was the closest either of them had to something that was solely uniquely there's, like a private erotic fantasy at the edge of a human's mind that their torqued spouse would rather not be there. It wasn't nearly as deranged or fantastical as a human's daydream, but it was precious to them.

Asking that of a Prime, of all mecha, was stepping out of Prowl's boundaries as a subordinate and assuming the role of a very close friend. It wasn't something he was sure he deserved, considering he did have some ulterior justification for asking - Prowl rarely asked anyone for anything without reason. That was what made the other commanders listen to him when he started giving out orders, because it paid off in the end. Even though he could never get his fellow Autobots to understand his culture and his instinctual programming bending him to complete his triad, he could get them to understand the logic behind obeying his orders without question. It was their trust in his abilities that made him almost hyperaware of how fragile his position as friend and tactical commander was. Any breaking of that trust could damage his reputation and his friendship irrevocably, which is why the interface he had asked for between him and Optimus Prime made his wings twitch with barely concealed nervousness.

The crisp icy blue optics of the ex-enforcer met the calmer, deeper blue of the Prime's as their wrists crossed and they grabbed hold of each other's forearms. Dataports in their wrists whirled open and in the next instant they were connected, and Prowl braced himself for the mental _stillness_ that often characterized any non-Praxian processor. He was shocked to discover that that was not the case with the Prime, and felt slightly embarrassed by his own shock.

In hindsight, the Prime had acted more proactive and therefore Praxian than some Praxians; it was only natural that their Prime's mind would be preoccupied with many thoughts all at once. They moved with slow deliberation, carefully being scrutinized by the personality matrix of Optimus' processor before drawing to their inevitable conclusions and filed away for later use. It wasn't nearly as fast as Prowl's own processing unit, but it was organized beauty and a wonder to behold. It reminded him all at once of Smokescreen's mind; it was the mind of a tactician, though not anywhere near Smokescreen's caliber. It was attractive in a Triad mate, but Prowl had learned with Jazz that such an approach wouldn't be acceptable, even if their situation did call for it. He pushed those thoughts away for another time, letting them ground to a halt as he turned processor power to more important thought processes.

In real time, he only caught a glimpse of Prime's processor before the memory of Optimus' last moments of Elita were shoved to the forefront and crossed the boundaries of their mind in Prowl's own. Taking the gesture as chastisement for his errant thought, Prowl immediately turned his focus on the datafile.

He had expected to feel different than what he had felt, but the emotions were exactly the same, except - to put it into perspective - he felt more like Elita-One might have felt when Optimus told her that he had to go. He even delivered the same basic line Smokescreen had delivered - "If I die, don't be afraid to move on." It was almost like a punch to the proverbial data cluster. He sensed Optimus Prime's curiosity at his thoughts and he sent a data packet of his analysis, earning a surprised and errant thought back.

_So... **are you** gay...?_

There was an underlying meaning; was Jazz right in assuming these thoughts? Prowl felt stumped again. He had given up trying to explain it beyond 'it's in my programming' a long time ago because apparently non-Praxians didn't have anything close to the programming that demanded they join together in a triad. Instead, he sent a wordless data packet Optimus' direction, with a copy of the basics of his triad programming and emphasis on certain areas. The Prime's surprise, curiosity and then embarrassment filtered back through.

"I admit, I do not have anything resembling this," Optimus Prime said aloud, only confirming Prowl's thoughts. "But I believe what Jazz was thinking was a little bit more than _that_..."

Prowl tilted his head in thought, the only outward indication that he had heard the Prime as the other mech sent him another datapacket. It made Prowl flinch.

A triad's programming allowed for a full male triad to have a bondmate outside the triad - Prowl sent that analysis back. Jazz had tried not to show how baffled and angry he was that Prowl had asked, insinuating that his bondmate was dead. It was a giant faux pas Prowl hadn't realized he had committed, but one Optimus Prime assured him that Jazz knew better about, and if he didn't already he would soon. It was not exactly comforting to Prowl because it had been left to rot for so long, but at least it would be cleared up soon.

"I will speak to him once he returns," said Optimus Prime, then his engine growled. "And I will speak to Ratchet about his conduct as well."

Prowl didn't react to that. He had gotten so used to the fact that others would not be able to understand his programming that it actually hadn't bothered him that much when Ratchet teased him.

"Ratchet is a medic," continued Optimus Prime, sensing his Second's thoughts. "If anyone should understand another's programming, it should be him."

"Even one as alien as a Praxians'?" Prowl responded back.

"That is an excuse that's been used too long," responded Optimus Prime. "This is a new generation, Prowl. Now is the best time for change."

Neither of them knew how much that rang with truth. Prowl nodded slowly, thoughtfully, careful to keep his doubts to himself. The Prime let out an audible sigh, the only sign it had been picked up over the link.

"Optimus?" Prowl began, tilting his head and sending his wordless question towards the other. "Why are we here?"

_Why have you sent my bonded to his potential doom?_ was the silent, more sentimental question that leaked through the link. Optimus rumbled unhappily at the mental image he was receiving, of Smokescreen and Prowl together on the command deck.

"I would not have sent them if I did not know we would find something of extreme importance," said Optimus Prime. "Something that could very well win us this war."

Prowl looked at Optimus Prime as if he had suddenly budded a second head. He had suspected as much when they had first come to this planet, and if he wasn't currently interfacing with Prime's processors he would have found that statement ludicrous. Even now, he was finding it a difficult pill to swallow, but only because he now knew the source of that information.

"Are you sure the Matrix of Leadership does not have outdated information?" he asked aloud.

Optimus Prime responded by sending Prowl information on everything else that the Matrix had made comments about, including but not limited to the days when Praxians were considered to be inferior mentally to everyone else even though that wasn't the case. "It's been... a good indicator of things so far."

It was strange to think that Prowl had an ancient artifact that seemed to serve the same purpose as a rock would had been the very thing which had been behind him getting his job. It was early on in the war, when Praxians were believed to have never gotten any upgrades at all, including those essential for tactical analysis. It was what caused so many applicants for the tactical field to be quietly dismissed without a second thought. Without new management, without Optimus Prime stepping up when Sentinel disappeared, Prowl would never have been considered for the position of Head Tactician. Still some Autobots today believed it was a stupid decision, and they made their displeasure known by blaming Prowl or Smokescreen or another Praxian on the tactical staff for the failings of the entire group. Prowl could not remember an instance when Optimus Prime had done the same, especially not after his transformation from Major to Prime.

It made him wonder if things would have been the same had Sentinel had the Matrix, but that thought was almost immediately dismissed. How could Sentinel had become a Prime without the Matrix? But something in the sudden shift of Optimus' mood told Prowl there was more to that story than he originally thought, but he sensed he should not pry into such matters.

"Do you have any evidence that it's right?" Prowl asked.

"Always the enforcer," rumbled Optimus Prime, amused. Prowl hadn't really expected an answer but Optimus Prime seemed to have one. "I'll show you."

Just like that, they were suddenly disconnecting and standing. The Prime led the way to the Command Deck, and Prowl followed him curiously. When they arrived, it was just as plain and empty as when Smokescreen told Prowl not to linger too long on his death. The SIC filed that thought away, not wanting to think about it when something else deserved his attention. Prime stood at the head of the Deck, bending slightly over the console and pressing a few command keys. A surface scan of the planet appeared on screen, with its standard mixture of oxygen, nitrogen and other gasses as well as the strange intermediary appears of some kind of metal.

"It's a standard atmospheric planet, Prime, with acceptable deviations associated with new life," said Prowl.

"Except there's more advanced technology among the primitive," Optimus explained. A three-dimensional model of the debris field appeared above the consules in a holographic display of blue light, and Optimus keyed in the command for the hologram to zero in on the trace metallic elements. Prowl's optics widened in realization.

"Are those nanobots?"

The flickering silver lights, like stars, that astronauts can see once they enter Earth's atmosphere when the sun hits them in the right spot, were tiny micro robots. Their silvery beetle like forms drifted motionlessly in the atmosphere, hundreds of tiny solar panels and radar discs creating a self-sustaining wireless network connection all across the globe. They were composite creatures with biomechanical design but made entirely out of an ancient Cybertronian alloy that had been discontinued generations ago because of its inferior, 'floppy' properties. A more resilient and stiff metal had been made as substitute, but records of the original alloy's compound still existed.

"So, this planet was under observation a long time ago," said Prowl skeptically.

"Perceptor believes that the planet is trillions of stellar cycles younger than the technology shown here," responded Optimus.

That perked the mech's interest. "Is the network still up and running?"

"As far as we can tell, yes. But we don't have the right frequency or technology to hack it."

The Praxian's mind whirled. Evidence of Cybertronian life on other planets had only shown connections to technology only a few generations before the reign of Nova Prime. Technology trillions of stellar cycles old could only be descended directly from the reign of the Seven after the fall of the Thirteen. This was the greatest archaeological find in history, but that didn't tell Prowl anything about its significance to the war.

"What technology are you hoping to find?" he asked Prime. "Granted, the historical significance of this sight would prove valuable if the War was already over and we were on our way to peace, but I do not see its current potential in the face of War."

Optimus Prime looked very serious. "You are familiar with the legends around the Thirteen, correct?"

"Refresh my memory," Prowl said dryly, realizing that he was about to get a history lecture.

"It's believed," said Optimus in a tone Prowl noticed wasn't his lecturing tone, "that the Thirteen are immortal. They're designs are so perfect that they can never rust, or corrode, and that trait remained even after half of them had disappeared and the remainder had started reigning as the Seven."

"But they could still be killed," Prowl responded, before analyzing that information. "You believe that there is a living member of the Thirteen on this planet?"

"Stranger things have happened," responded Optimus Prime.

_No_ , Prowl corrected mentally. _Nothing as strange as that_.

Prowl would have begun arguing about whether or not it was even possible, given what they knew of the technology, for the Thriteens to be immortal, beyond Primus had simply granted it to them which Prowl found nearly impossible to believe because who had even seen Primus after so many cycles? But he was halted by the sudden arrival of Wheeljack.

"Optimus!" said the engineer, his helmet fins flashing as he barged into the Command Deck with the flash and gracelessness he was so renown for, earning a few chuckles from the present half of skeleton crew, "Percy wanted me to tell you that's he's found something that you might find _really_ interesting."

"Thank you, Wheeljack," said Optimus Prime. When the ex-wrecker had vanished, he turned to Prowl. "I believe this might interest you."

Prowl tilted his head in confusion, but didn't say anything as he followed Optimus Prime to the lab.

Perceptor's area of work was an organized mess. There was no other description for it. Brightly colored liquids that glowed radioative, with less bright liquids mixed in between the colors and metal bars, all arranged on the science tables in a system of metal containers, beakers, and pullies. It was one giant contraption of different chemical compounds that only Perceptor understood the purpose of, and only which a few mecha were allowed to view. Optimus and Prowl stepped through a cleaning room before they were accepted into the lab, the automatic sprayers and blow dryers quickly making them good enough to enter the laboratory.

"Did you need something, Perceptor?" Optimus asked the faded-colored red and blue mech who hunched over a console at the back of the lab which showed many different scans of the various planets in the galaxy. All twelve planets had detailed scans of their surfaces, with the gas planets' surfaces remaining a complete mystery beyond a few yards depth of atmosphere, and the outer four dwarf planets being completely analyzed all the way to the core, one which had red oddities marked out in Cybertronian.

Upon hearing his name, the small triplechanger leaned away from what he was doing and raised his goggle-shaped visor with a finger. "Optimus?" he asked, absentmindedly as he pulled himself from his analysis. His blue optics flickered over to the SIC and Prowl nodded in greeting. He suddenly straightened completely, recognition and realization sweeping over his face. "Right, right. I was just working on what I was wanting to show you."

"What are you scanning for?" asked Prowl.

"Metal," responded the scientist, his fingers flicking across the hologram to bring up the four dwarf planets. "Our scanners are trained to pick up evidence of metallic alloys, specifically something of Decepticon technology. I thought that would be better than scanning them more in depth."

"Did you okay this with the rest of the science department?"

"Well, I, no. But I did 'okay it' with Optimus Prime." Perceptor looked at Optimus for a moment, earning a nod of encouragement. Miffed that he had not been informed, Prowl determined that he would chew out Optimus for that later. This wild goose chase had too many doubts about it lingering in Prowl's processor, and he did not see how any of this could have benefited them.

The sentiment must have reflected on his features because Optimus spoke reassuringly to the tactician. "Any reports of Decepticon activity would have been sent to your datapad straight away, Prowl."

"I do not doubt it," responded the Praxian diplomatically. "Continue." This did not save Optimus from the chewing out later.

"Our scanners have picked up a myriad assortment of ancient Cybertronian alloys," said Perceptor. "Most of which is clustered on this dwarf planet, the ninth one from the local Star, in what appears to be the foundation of a energy building. The ambient amount of surface water insinuates that this used to be a Cybertronian hydroelectric power plant of ancient design."

Prowl's doorwing flickered. Hydroelectric power plants hadn't been used since long before Nova Prime's time, when outer planetary exploration was banned. There was no water on Cybertron, so the technology was never utilized and partially forgotten. Since the creation of solar energy, it was widely believed that hydroelectric power wasn't as potent as solar energy so it wasn't developed again until after the war started. Surprisingly, hydroelectric dams were far more potent than any solar energy and most outposts on both sides had switched over in an effort to fuel the war, leaving solar energy plants abandoned in the process.

Perceptor continued. "We've also picked up raw energon residue on the surface from a time when it was in liquid form."

Optimus Prime leaned forward, intrigued by this news. Prowl's mental processings came to a screeching halt. Perhaps this raw energon was what attracted the attention of the Seven? Raw energon had two forms - a crystalized form which only materialized in semi-cold temperatures while underground, and a molten liquid form that could appear on the surface or underground, that often had energon crystals growing on its banks in metal rich planets. They could be mined in asteroids or meteors and dwarf planets, like this one, but for there to be a liquid version on the surface alongside a hydroelectric power plant, that could only mean that the planet had been inhabited at one point in time.

"As far as I can tell, the hydroelectric dam was making the energon."

" _Synthetic_ energon?" asked Optimus Prime. Suddenly, Prowl was a whole lot more interested.

"Hypothetically, yes. The energon seems to have been moved, however, as there is no strong evidence of raw energon crystals on the surface now."

"They could have transferred it to the standard atmospheric planet," Prowl realized. He looked over the scan of the dwarf planet. Most of the raw energon crystals were small and clustered beneath the destroyed plant, creating a crater like effect underneath the surface of the planet. Whatever lake or river that existed long before had been covered up by ice, leaving behind an impression of what once was. Energon could not seep into an organic surface like water could, unless it found a way through a channel or tunnel in the surface, and this looked nothing like a cave system. It looked like raw energon had begun to grow and then was covered up, perhaps by Cybertronians, before the ice set in.

"But that doesn't explain why there's a network established over the third planet's surface," Optimus pointed out.

"Unless they moved their civilization there," responded Perceptor. "And it has remained since this day."

Prowl shook his head; there was too much speculation going around. "But why a planet with an atmosphere?"

Perceptor frowned thoughtfully at that. "Atmospheric planets are known for their abundance of liquid H2O. Perhaps they simply moved their dam there."

"Perhaps," agreed Optimus thoughtfully.

Prowl frowned. "But _why_? What could have caused them to abandon an obviously good spot and then move inward?"

"This planet might have been closer to the star, which is much warmer than where it is now, and because it drifted out of orbit it became too cold for them to use their dams effectively."

"Perhaps," said Optimus, but Prowl sensed that the Prime disagreed, though he tried not to show it. Perhaps the Matrix was confirming something for him.

Prowl nodded, his own tactical programming properly satisfied. "Thank you, Perceptor. Make sure that you send _any_ information about possible bases like this to me immediately once you've found it."

The scientist nodded, his attention returning to his work at the clear dismissal. Prowl gestured for Optimus to follow him out of the science lab and they quietly passed through the cleaning room on their way out. When they were standing alone in the hallway, Prowl turned to the Prime, halting Optimus before he disappeared.

"I would like to make it clear," Prowl told him, "that I do not appreciate being uninformed about your endeavors here. I want to know _immediately_ when our resources are being used for things that are _not_ covered in protocol, especially if the Matrix of Leadership is the _sole_ reason for you _authorizing_ it."

Prowl waited for a nod of understanding before he marched towards his office. It was the first time that day he had sat in that office and he found the silence and comfort of it soothing, especially now that he could expect to return to his room alone for the next few cycles. Grimacing to himself, he picked up his datapad and began going over the reports.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killjoy travels northward only to stumble across an Insecticon drone... who is far too interested in that escape pod!

She heard the Insecticon before she saw him, but her doorwings picked up the strange vibrations of its wings long before that. It was a massive black and purple beetle, with ugly extra long back legs, scissor like mandibles, and placid narrow and slanted purple facets for optics. It moved like an unintelligent beast, uncaring of the damage it caused as it swung low across the treetops and circled the area to the south with obvious intent. It was't fast enough to be hunting, then again it didn't look like it had much power in its legs to pin down any live prey, but that didn't mean something hadn't caught its optic. And as far as she knew, it could have some hidden long ranged weaponry she couldn't detect. She gave in to her paranoia without much thought and remained hidden, watching and wondering if she should consider him prey.

The beast remained oblivious of her, his antennae focused firmly on the thing that had arrested his attention. It ducked below the tree line once or twice, the loud crack of falling tree limbs and crash of falling trees hinting at the destruction it was no doubt causing. She did not move from her position, not even to sate the growing sense of curiosity in her. Killjoy had learned the hard way that curiosity was just a tool that someone could use against you in the wilds.

The Insecticon finally touched down beneath the tree line, felling three more trees in its landing. Here, out in the forests of west India, it was a wonder the noise didn't attract the attention of the locals. Or better yet, how it managed to stay off radar. Anyone should be able to see it and hear it for miles around.

She would have to investigate later, as another sound suddenly filled the air. It sounded like the bug was tearing into a thick piece of metal hide, and that was something worth investigating. Immediately, before the Insecticon tore into something that might hold valuable information, even if it was another Insecticon. Any information on possible rebels was valuable in the effort against Airachnid. Killjoy immediately began plotting a course for the Insecticons location, ducking and dodging through the trees. Even without Atlas' phase shifter, Rhythm's instinctual programming made it extremely easy to sneak around in the forest without making too much noise. The lack of bird sound was the only thing that might have given her away, but the white noise of the forest had gone quiet long before she arrived and it didn't make sense that an Insecticon would find the lack of noise suspect - he caused it first.

The scene she stumbled upon looked like the start of a graphic scene in a horror movie. The bug had only begun to peel back the layers of the escape pod, munching on the first strip of metal slowly and laboriously, completely uncaring of the Cybertronian stuck inside the damaged pod, who was inert. She couldn't see how bad he looked because the plexiglass was too cracked by landfall to be anything but mostly opaque, and all she could really see was a vague shape and a splash of color.

The Insecticon would have continued eating away at the pod for the rest of the week if she hadn't drawn attention to herself. It registered her like it might register an insignificant worm, too small and too puny to be considered a threat, but something that was fascinating to stare at. It did not stop eating, and she took the moment to scan it properly.

A force field like energy surrounded the male Insecticon, and Killjoy recognized it as Terran technology. The energy absorption field acted like a secondary mouth, absorbing unique forms of energy like sunlight to make up for the lack of raw or processed energon on the planet, with the added bonus of making whoever had one largely resistant or outright immune to energy attacks. But Terrans, especially older ones like Rhythm, didn't use pure energy weapons at all. Even in her energon blue dirk, there was a slim piece of serrated metal in the middle that helped give the blade form as well as do considerable damage to a mecha's undersides if properly used. Her shoulder canons were essentially gatling style railguns, which could fire metal spiked balls the weight and size of Cybertronian bowling balls. It was hard finding metal as hard as Cybertonian alloys that could do enough damage to an Insecticon shell, so she needed to use her canons sparingly, especially in situations that were in such close quarters.

Perhaps knowing this and cleverly hiding its intelligence under a mask of animalistic brilliance, the Insecticon continued to eat away at the only current source of pure Cybertronian metal, watching the black and white small-fry that lacked any visual display of weapons beyond a long ineffectual energy dagger and which stood still like some lost and forgotten statue a few yards out of leg reach. The dangerous, intelligent glint in her fiery brownish red optics held no significance to him whatsoever. She moved too quickly for his processor to process, ducking under his heavily armored back to slash open his softer underbelly, the dagger slipping through the long crack running down his stomach with ease.

The warnings registering across his systems caused him pause, as he crouched down in an after thought of trapping her underneath his bulk and turned towards the she-mech's new location. They stared at each in the clearing he had made while his processors registered that he could no longer process what he had been sent here to eat. He turned to attack her, but in the next instant she had disappeared again, and no amount of wiggling his antennae back and forth could detect her in the clearing. No longer able to preform his duty and without any mecha to fight and destroy, he took off. The Insecticon circled overhead, trying to get a bead on her current location, before he finally left.

Nearly a half hour after he had left, Killjoy stepped out of the treeline and banged on the plexiglas of the escape pod. Her sensors couldn't penetrate the alien shielding covering up the mech's signature within, so she had no idea whether or not he was still able to be saved. If it turned out he was close to death, well, then there was no reason to leave everything for the Insecticons to chew on. Besides, she could use the muscle and firepower.

She gave the plexiglass a few solid hits with her fist and elbow, earning a few dull cracking sounds but not much else. The mech inside remained firmly silent, which didn't bode well for his health. While she struggled to peel the escape pod like an onion, Killjoy knew she was leaving herself open to attack and that didn't sit well with her. A quick scan of the escape pod revealed that it did not have any form of energy adsorbent shielding, so she hacked away at it with her dirk, careful to point the blade away from the mech inside as she peeled the escape pod. It took a good long while for her to get the mech out, and the moment she had pulled his head and shoulders first out of the wrecked pod, she adjusted him onto her back and made her way through the forest.

There were a few auxiliary outposts lying from the Omnibot wars back during the days of the Destrons, at the start of their civilization. Rhythm knew where the closest one might be, and Killjoy made a beeline for it. The heavily armored plating and force field shielding would protect the mech from Insecticon scans, since he didn't have the absorption shielding which masked his energy trail from detection. The Insecticons would be back soon and both of them out in the forest like this were easy prey. The auxiliary outpost was located further northwest, which felt like it was a bit in the opposite direction of where she wanted to go. She already took a detour tracking down that Insecticon, forcing her to look out for possible Insecticon hives in this location, only to discover one slow drone and an energy bleeding escape pod which any Terran, Insecticon or Sparkeater, might find tempting to eat.

Her doorwings detected the base before her optics did, as the shielding that had once made the outpost safe had been torn up by the growing plant life bent on taking back the semi-solid metal base. She couldn't see the entrance, which was buried under a yard of dirt and vegetation, until she had scooped away the terra firma to reveal it. She had to manually open the front doors, which openned and closed with a swirl pattern reminiscent of the simulation. She almost didn't go inside, worried that He was waiting for her there. She was not ready to encounter Him again.

Killjoy dropped her Cybertronian cargo right inside the entrance so she could close the doors and seal them in. A preliminary scan of the place revealed it to be as empty as it should be, but a closer inspection showed that something had indeed skittered across the ground sometime in the past, leaving teeth marks and claw marks in the gutted and overgrown machinery. The sheilding was still mostly intact, but the rest of the outposts functions were nonoperational, including a ground bridge portal to other similar locations on the planet. It wouldn't have been much help anyway, if every outpost was in such a state of disrepair. The place was made of impure Cybertronian alloys, a target for any scavenger who knew what he should be looking for.

Determining that her new companion would need a drink when he woke, she turned her attention to doing what Terrans did best and scavenge up some energon. When she returned to his body, he was still except for the steady thrum of his energy signature. Without the energy absorption field her kind were reknown for, he was like a beacon of spark energy waiting to be consumed by passing Sparkeaters or Insecticons. It was uncanny. If she sat next to him for any length of time, his lack of a shield would cause hers to eat away at his spark energy. That was something she'd need to be able to turn off if she wanted to be in contact with other Autobots in the future, especially if she had to carry them everywhere. It also made finding raw energon for him a necessity, if they were going to be traveling together.

It was reminding her too much of the simulation and Reverb's death. If things had gone differently, if Atlas had woken her up the moment the spinal bug had started converting her organic matter into metal, she would never have had to come to distrust him, would never have left, would never had been able to effectively deal with the dumb Insecticon scavenger. The simulation may have taught her how to kill and how to defend herself, but it was also something she wished she had never been subjected to. Sometimes, she wished that Atlas had just taken matters into his own servos and left her out of it, instead of transforming her into some bastardized child of him and his lover, leaving her in questionable mental health after He sank his claws into her unprepared and unprotected mind. Granted, Rhythm had been one of the most powerful beings on Earth, alongside her sisters (or brothers, depending on how old the memory she found of them was) and giving that knowledge and body over to a successor was the quickest way to make sure they had a powerful weapon, it still reeked of foul play. Atlas had basically been more than willing to kill some organic meatbag to bring back someone who only pretended to care about life. Albeit, he had succeeded in bringing her back to life where Rhyme's ancestor had failed to bring back the first Rhythm, but still.

Killjoy looked away from the Autobot, wondering if Vibes and the others were still on planet, if they weren't just a part of the simulation. It was going to be really hard trying to distinguish reality from simulation. All the facts had already started to blur together, and she hadn't met Vibes yet. Her promise to protect Vibes still stood after all, but the fate of the real Vibes was unknown. A lot could have happened in fifty thousand stellar cycles, back when these events had supposedly happened.

Something stirred. The Autobot remained as inert and oblivious as ever to the sound of something heavy landing above them. Killjoy swore colorfully as she brought the ration of energon angrily down on the Autobot's lap and darted up towards the manual entrance to listen. The silence on the other side was unnerving, but she felt the vibrations of movement and some kind of sound through the door. Something had sniffed them out, and it was too big to be a Sparkeater. Another Insecticon? The throaty screech it uttered sent chills through her doorwings, confirming her thoughts.

There was no secret underground tunnel that could let them escape, and even if there was, the Autobot was still out cold, meaning he couldn't replenish the energy she would steal from him while attempting to save his life. There was no escape, which meant she'd have to resort to more violent measures. It was no problem, Rhythm's many predessessors had fought bigger and badder baddies on their own before, so one Insecticon, or even two, was no problem. The fact that they had evolved over the last fifty thousand years during the gap in her memory was a problem. It left room for too many unknowns.

There was a loud BANG on the door as something heavy discovered it while blundering around. This was followed by an even louder BANG which rattled the shoddy metal construction down to its foundation. Killjoy wondered if she should wait until after they tore down the door before firing or wait before, then decided to wait until she could see the colored glow in its optics.

The next knock dented the door, and the last knock sent half a head and a horn protruding through the dent in the door. Blazing red optics meet hers, and it head butted the gap open further, revealing a smaller four-jawed mouth which extended from it's larger two-jawed orifice. A deep and unearthly bellow rumbling low and loud from its short neck, all six mandible jaws rippling lazily. This was not the placid scavenger. He'd sent a friend.

One shoulder canon fired a railgun projectile into the ugly plated head and the great beast was knocked backward by the unexpected weapon, neck snapped beneath for force of the fired projectile and head and horn caved in. Her doorings twitched as they read the incoming breeze, the displacement of beast through air throwing off her sensors. A second bug could be heard batting its wings fitfully outside, but it did not rise to the bait and try its luck against the being who had taken out its buddy with one hit. Killjoy waited until the sounds of Insecticons had grown distant before retreating into the heart of the outpost.

The Autobot was awake. The blue and yellow bot had dark teal optics in an otherwise light face. He blinked his optics at her in surprise, before drawing his weapon on her. Killjoy was not expecting the genuine pleased feeling she felt towards having a gun pointed at her.

"Who are you? And where am I? What have you done to the other Autobots?" he said in recognizable Cybertronian.

The serious expression, harden by years of war, was not faked and could never be replicated by a simulation, Killjoy thought to herself. "I have done nothing to them. I simply found you in the forest while an Insecticon was chewing up your pod."

"Insecticon?" he wondered, confused.

"Large ferrovores that eat energon as a side dish and seem to have a knack for sniffing out lonely otherworlders."

"Where are my friends?"

"Not trying to get eaten, I hope," she replied. Having scanned his energy weapon and deemed it no real threat, she gestured to the energon cube he had knocked into the floor after he'd woken up. "Are you going to eat that?"

The Autobot frowned at the question, and her attitude in general, before lowering his weapon and gathering up the energon cube to investigate. Pleased with some progress, Killjoy gestured toward the entrance.

"This base is no longer secure, and now that you can walk it will be easier for us to get moving."

The Autobot nodded, his optics on the drink as he drank it, pulling a disgusted face. "Better than rations, I suppose," he mused aloud before finishing the energon and rising to his pedes. "Those things I heard outside? Are they still there?"

"The Insecticons shouldn't be outside again until after they pick up some reinforcements," Killjoy responded.

They walked out onto what could have once been the outpost's front porch. The Autobot whistled as he caught sight of the immobile Insecticon.

"What happened to _that_?" he asked in surprise, surveying the damage of the giant metal ball in the creatures' head.

"I did," she said simply. "We should leave before the scavenger drones remember to eat it."

"They _eat_ their own kind?" he wondered, horrified.

"Metal like that is hard to come by," she informed him. "You could make a meal out of all that energon he's leaking."

"D-did you put any of that in the cube?"

"Wouldn't have had time to."

" _Primus_."

The Autobot tore himself away from the strange creature, his optics looking pale, and trotted after Killjoy as she almost disappeared into the forest. He was having difficulty spotting her and only saw glimpses of her, so she went against her better instincts to pause every now and again, giving him the chance to keep up. The first time she stopped, he took the opportunity to talk.

"Where are we going?"

"Away," she said, glancing back towards the outpost. Her sensors hadn't picked up any Insecticons, but they weren't far enough away for her tastes.

"And my friends?" he asked, challenging. "We have to find them."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously, memories of the simulation playing in her head.

"We have to warn them about these Insecticons," he responded.

"Why? They can handle themselves, can't they?"

"Well, yes, but-" he paused, frustrated before turning thoughtful. His optics narrowed shrewdly. "Why weren't you afraid of me when I pointed my gun at you?"

"It was an energy based weapon. I am largely immune," she responded, having completely stopped to turn her attention towards the Autobot.

He was suddenly very uncomfortable. " _Why_ is that?"

"Terrans like me have developed a type of energy field that absorbs raw forms of energy, like energon, solar, thermal and electricity. That also includes plasma fire."

"Would these Insecticons be considered Terrans?"

There was a definitely jump in the pitch of his voice. Killjoy found it oddly calming. Someone else could panic for a change. "Yes."

The Autobot looked horrified. "I have to tell the Commander! We only use energy based weapons in a firefight. The others could be in danger."

"How do you propose we find them?" she asked, infuriatingly calm. "There is too much ground to cover without an aerial view and I can't fly."

"Neither can I, but we have got to try something!" Realizing that she was the only one who knew how to traverse the jungle, he looked directly at her. "I need your help."

The way he said that, desperate but commanding, left her without any desire to _not_ help. "I'll see what my sensors can pick up. With any luck, your friends will be grouped together, which might make them a target that passing Insecticons can't ignore. Especially if all they have is energy weapons. So, if we see any passing Insecticons leave us be and travel in the same general direction, then your friends will probably be there."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beachbreak and Killjoy swap names. Meanwhile, the Autobots try to escape being turned into lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Key:  
> ::Cybertronian Radio::  
> "Cybertronian Speech"  
>  **::Human Radio::**  
>  **"English Speech"**  
>  _Thoughts._  
>  _ **Bond talk.**_

Killjoy hadn't been kidding when she said that the Insecticons would converge on the Autobots' location, ignoring all else, once they got a whiff of the strong scent of energon that oozed from them. Though, initially they were drawn to them as a potential food source, their basic territorial programming began identifying them as more than that; threats. These gun totting mechs, though harmless, were obvious hostile invaders moving in on their territory. With the added bonus of them being made completely from pure Cybertronian alloy, they were a meal the Insecticon drones couldn't pass up.

The forest around them started to hum, a low threatening buzzing noise that was less like the sound a rattlesnake makes when it is afraid its about to be eaten and more like the slow rising sound of thunder as a brewing storm nears. If the Autobots were not ignorant of what a natural forest sounds like when it isn't frightened into silence by passing alien guests or thrumming under the noise of a swarm, they'd have seen the few breems of noises for what it was, a warning. So the warning was ignored. Too late, they realized their error, as their world was filled with giant robotic bugs swooping down from the sky, their thrumming beetle wings filling the air with their unnatural thunder.

As far as Smokescreen's higher sensory functions were concerned, they were being attacked by ghosts. He couldn't get a bead on their locations. Something was shielding their energy signatures from his doorwings.

::Fall back!:: Jazz ordered. They obeyed immediately.

::I can't get a fix on their locations on my sensors!:: informed Smokescreen.

::Neither can I,:: said Hound, his voice casual. ::All I can see them with are my optic scanners!::

::What are these things?:: asked Mirage, the usual disgust in his voice turned icily calm as he came to be beside Smokescreen.

::I don't know - I need more information!:: the tactician responded, keeping his frustration hidden beneath a perfect poker face that could rival even Prowl's., if the stoic Second-In-Command even had a poker face, that is. ::We are going to have to make a break for the mountains,:: he finally shouted at Jazz. ::That's our best bet for shelter.::

Jazz didn't hesitate. ::Hound, Bumblebee, vaporize a path. Everyone, transform and stay low! Smokescreen, take the middle!::

They transformed into their hover modes, the uneven terrain barely affecting their sudden burst of speed. Orange beams of light hit tree trunks, vaporizing the organic matter in quick bursts of light. The sudden explosion of energy caused confusing amongst the Insecticon ranks, as if the Autobots had let loose a series of silent flashbangs in the forest. They reoriented themselves quickly as the Autobots took the lead, blundering in a zigzag pattern in the sky above them, trying to get a fix on the rapidly moving bursts of energy that gave away the Autobot's position. The Insecticons flew higher and higher, keeping their sights on the Autobots but remaining a fair distance away to protect their energy detection sensors from potential overload. It might have forced them back, but now the Insecticons were much more interested in tracking down consuming the energy rich and pure Cybertronian alloy that made up the Autobots.

As a result, the Autobots made it to the mountains in record Earth time with no Insecticons in visual range. Once they hit the base of the mountain, Smokescreen and Hound, their sensors scanning the uneven surface of stone and boulder, immediately transformed and fanned out in a standard searching pattern. The green tracker found shelter first, breaking the radio silence the team had been under since the chase had begun.

::Down here!:: Hound shouted, standing in front of a dark smudge partway up the mountain.

As quietly as they could, the rest of the landing team followed after him, moving quickly to the darkest parts of the cave. A hushed silence filled the air as they listened for the deadly hum of the Insecticons overhead.

Sensing the prey had gone into hiding, the red-eyed and double-mouthed hunters descended from the sky, their keen-eyed and slower brethren remaining high in the air, like distant dark dots in the sky. The hunters' dark shapes caste shadows across the ground before the cave entrance. Their thunder caused the air to rumble over the mountain, and cave walls rumbled as they landed heavily on the mountain surface, sensors perked for the energy rich Cybertronians. An eerie silence fell over the mountain as the Insecticons waited for the surplus of energy caused by the Autobot's sudden arrival slowly dissipated, which would allow the fresher, stronger scent to come to the surface. Patiently, they waited.

Inside the cave, it was deathly quiet. Not a single Autobot dared to move; none of them were stupid enough to believe the chase would be given up that easily. They lingered near the cave entrance, watching for any signs of movement outside. After a few breems, approximately half an hour, Jazz and the others began to move.

Jazz directed the team in absolute silence, gently pushing them further into the cave. None of them dared to make a sound, and their natural night vision made it easy to avoid stones and rock fixtures in their way. They continued like that for a few breems, where they found themselves approaching an exit which bottomed out inside of a giant gorge with sheer rock cliffs on either side. Complete darkness had fallen over the world and, far below, a stream trickled through the steep ravine.

::Where are we?:: Bumblebee wondered, standing opposite Jazz at the exit and looking towards the mountains they had come from.

::Far enough from those things to have a chat uninterrupted,:: said Jazz, with a small smile. ::Did any of ya get any info on those giant scraplets?::

::Those things are what ate Mudflap,:: Hound said slowly. ::Or something big like them. They have the same legs.::

::How is that helpful?:: hissed Mirage, annoyed and frustrated that that was all they had seemed to gather on their new enemy. It wounded his pride. ::It just tells us _we're_ next on the menu.::

::Stifle it, Raj,:: warned Jazz. ::We don't need a reminder of how bad this sitch is.::

::How did they find us?:: Bumblebee wondered. ::Last I checked, they were pretty far away.::

::Oh, I don't know, the same way they found Mudflap and Beachbreak?:: responded Mirage, dryly.

Jazz moved slightly, his head only slightly turning in Mirage's direction. The towerling promptly shut up, sulking.

::What kind of sensors do you think they have?:: Smokescreen asked Hound, turning out Mirage's drama.

The green tracker shrugged. ::I don't know, but I'm guessing their scanners are as strong as mine. They're more adapted to this world too, so I'd guess they'd have filters for all this organic matter.::

::Which means they could find us all the quicker,:: surmised Bumblebee, his back turned to them and gaze fixed firmly outside.

Hound nodded to himself. ::If they haven't already.::

There was a heavy beat of silence before Bumblebee spoke up. ::They don't seem particularly bright. They are just hovering over the mountain range over there.::

::Should we get reinforcements?:: Mirage asked Smokescreen, despite the warning look Jazz sent him.

::No,:: said Smokescreen. ::The best that would do is distract them from us and give them someone else to chew on. No, we have to figure this out here and now.::

::We could tell them to send down a pod filled with raw energon,:: Mirage pointed out.

Jazz tilted his head quizzically. ::How would that help us?::

Mirage frowned and reluctantly answered. ::Back on Cybertron, when I was hunting turbo-foxes, we would lay traps for them using energon and various purities of Cybertronian alloy. Turbo-foxes were omnivores, though they preferred raw energon to processed energon or pure Cybertronian alloy. Perhaps these things are similar?::

Jazz looked pleased. ::That's a good idea. Hound, what do you think these Insecticons are more interested in? Metal or energon?::

::I would say a bit of both, though they seem to have preference for energon,:: the tracker responded. ::They did, after all, eat a Cybertronian and leave half the pod untouched.::

::Pods aren't made from the same metals we are,:: Bumblebee put in. ::You'd have to ask Cliffjumper or Swerve for the specifics; they're the metallurgists.::

::I'm due for a call back to base anyway,:: said Jazz, nonchalantly. ::How much of him did they eat?::

::As far as I could tell, all of him.:: His companions shuddered at the implications, but Hound continued anyway. ::Processor, coolant, energon, spark chamber – the creature didn't seem to prefer one body part over the other.::

::Cannibals?:: asked Mirage, horrified.

::Essentially,:: said Hound. ::Though they'd actually have to be one hundred percent Cybertronian to actually be called cannibals.:: He suddenly looked thoughtful. ::Perhaps there are hierarchies of different Cybernetic species on this planet. It would explain why they don't hesitate around eating another living spark.::

::Right,:: said Jazz, sounding as disturbed as the rest of his companions, minus Hound, but Hound had a reputation for being fearless anyway. ::We'll leave that to Beachcomber to mull over. We got to solve the current problem.::

::Ratchet's not gonna be too happy about wasting medical supplies on a distraction, especially spare parts,:: said Mirage.

::He'll do it if it means saving the five of us,:: responded Smokescreen, finally rejoining the conversation. He looked at Jazz. ::I think I have an idea that could work.::

::Excellent, I'll patch ya in,:: responded Jazz.

Cybertronian quantum communicators worked like a network. The new quantum communicators which had been installed on them had a network of seven mechs, minus one with Mudflap's death, and perhaps another with Beachbreak's disappearance. The reason Jazz wasn't too terribly worried that their network might get hacked by someone uninvited was because it was common knowledge that a quantum communicator exploded after a mech's death, unless properly extracted. It was a pain to extract it and not trigger it's destruction – even Ratchet sometimes had problems keeping the quantum communicators intact after pulling them out of the living, and he had the steadiest servos in all of the universe.

The network allowed them all to chat openly, which is what they had been basically doing up until that point. If Beachbreak was alive, he would have likely overhead that conversation and been able to butt in. At the same time, he could very well have ignored it for reasons unknown to them. As third-in-command of the team, and next in line of commanding it if Jazz, then Mirage, died, Beachbreak also had another quantum communicator network which allowed him to communicate with Command on the Ark. So, if one communication network went down, the other was still operational.

A personal chat could be set up, too. Any one member could ping another through the quantum bond to signal that they should have a private conversation. Usually everyone else was informed before hand not to intervene, because if someone else decided to have another private conversation with a fourth person, he'd end up listening in on the first conversation by accident, and both conversationalist would immediately know that someone else had entered the conversation. Quantum communications were reserved for missions only for that exact reason. It was used by tacticians so that all information from every single officer could be relayed to them instantaneously, allowing them to react instantly and command their troops at. The special ops team used it to coordinate attacks against Decepticons.

This ingenious little creation was kept top secret – it wasn't recorded on any datapads or computers, and the only manufacturers were three scientist spread strategically throughout the Autobot ranks. Only the higher officers knew who they were. Even better, none of the Decepticons had yet tried to recreate it. What was the use of such methods when they had no special ops team, besides Soundwave and the cassetticons, who already had something similar in the form of a spark bond? In fact, the Decepticons believed that the entire Autobot army were bonded to each other, which was a little rumor Jazz loved to give more fuel, because it was _slightly_ true. It discouraged the Decepticons from doing something similar with their sparked mechs, and force them to rely heavily on drones to do most of their fighting for them.

But even the QCN wasn't used for everything. The Autobots kept up their old communication networks to make sure that the Decepticons had something to listen out for, and to continue communicating between older Autobot outposts that hadn't been given the QCN. The Wreckers, the Femme Division, every Autobot Special Ops team, and Optimus Prime's Elite Guard were the only ones given a personal QCN, and all of them saw more action on the frontlines than any other division of Autobots. Very rarely did they suffer more than five percent of casualties, compared to the plethora of Decepticon drone armies that fell to these coordinated Autobot warriors.

Jazz directed his quantum communicator to send only to Smokescreen, and everyone else immediately dropped out of the network and turned their attention to keeping their sensors on the Insecticons. Jazz opened the officer's network, pinging their communications officer personally.

::This is Jazz, reporting to the Ark. I have Smokey listening in here. Awaiting response.::

::Yo, Jazz, this is Blaster. Anyone you'd prefer to speak to?::

::Patch me to Prowl, Prime and Ratch,:: he responded. ::We got a bit of a crisis down here.::

::Patchin' ya through. Want me to listen' in?::

:: Not really. Don't want this spreadin' on the ol' rumor network. Ain't ya busy?::

::Not now.::

::Good, cuz I've got a question for ya! Any sign of Beachbreak? We lost sight of him back when we landed.::

::I'm still getting pings off his QCN, but I've lost track of Mudflap. What happen to him?::

::Ah, that's a part of the crisis.:: Jazz paused. ::Send my condolences to Skidds.::

::Oh. Understood.:: Blaster had a moment of silence. ::Gotcha patched through. I'll inform Trailbreaker. He'll want to tell him himself.::

::Thanks, mech,:: said Jazz.

There was barely a pause before Blaster dropped off the officer's QCN and another voice spoke up.

::This is Optimus Prime. It's good to hear your voice, friend,:: the leader's soothing baritone sounded.

::This is Ratchet. What Optimus said.::

::This is Prowl. Who did we lose?::

::Mudflap,:: said Jazz, who had long ago learned that the tactician preferred straight answers. ::He was eaten alive by one of the natives.::

Smokescreen hurriedly added. ::It's unknown if this is the only species on the planet. As far as we can tell, these creatures have more in common with turbo-foxes and don't exhibit any form of known intelligence beyond animalistic programming.::

::Do they have sparks?:: asked Prime, curious.

::Unknown,:: said Smokescreen. ::We haven't been able to crack open their shells to find out.::

::What is your situation?:: asked Prowl.

Jazz responded. ::We have currently holed up in a natural tunnel, after bein' chased by these things halfway through an organic forest.::

::Our situation is a bit complicated,:: said Smokescreen, ::but we believe there's a solution to the problem. These creatures have a preference for Cybertronian alloy; they ate Mudflap entirely, coolant, processor, spark, energon and limbs, but it ignored the escape pod. It also seemed to like the plexiglas.::

::Ferrivores,:: Ratchet responded with disgust.

::More accurately 'omnivores',:: said Prime. ::Smokescreen?::

::We have an idea of how to bait them away from our position,:: said Smokescreen, ::but you might not like it.::

::Go ahead,:: responded Prowl.

Smokescreen explained to them Mirage's idea and what little else they had gathered about the Insecticon's deity. Prowl settled into a disquieted silence, mulling over the information and confirming whether or not the plan was actually feasible.

::You want me to throw together a husk of a Cybertronian and fire it into the atmosphere near your location?:: asked Ratchet, sounding like he was about to start to build himself up into a ferocious temper.

::Have you attempted using your weapons on these creatures?:: Prowl asked.

::Our weapons seemed to be ineffective,:: responded Jazz tersely.

The three other officers absorbed this information for a long silent moment, before Prowl broke it.

::This plan would only serve to buy you some time,:: he observed. ::How would you be able to guarantee that you'd make it to a better position?::

::We don't know,:: said Smokescreen, grimacing as his imagination circuits already began to realize where Prowl's thoughts were going. **_We are going to live, Prowl._**

 ** _Words are empty_** , came the response back, and it felt like a slap to the face.

::Excuse me, sirs,:: came Blaster's response, causing silence to fill the chatroom. ::I'm receiving a communication planet side from an unknown source.::

::How clear is it?:: asked Prowl.

::Crystal clear.:: There was a pause. Then, Blaster said. ::You're not going to believe this, guys, but I've got Jazz's bonded on the other channel.::

Optimus Prime's response was immediate. ::Patch her through.::

::This is Autobot Sub-Commander Vibes. Who is this?::

::This is Optimus Prime of the Ark, Sub-Commander. My communications officer informs me that you are currently on world. Is this true?::

::Yes. Optimus, my team and I have been picking up your ship moving overhead lots of heavy hostile activity northwest of our base. Am I correct in assuming that you've sent down a landing team?::

::Yes, I currently have them on the comms right now. They can hear you.::

Optimus Prime's voice had an almost teasing quality to it and Smokescreen guessed that Optimus was about to explain to Vibes that said team leader was Jazz, except he didn't get that far.

::This planet is classified a Class Five Atmospheric Planet, with three separate colonies on the surface. Assume all inhabitants are hostile. I repeat; assume all inhabitants are hostile. Remain out of sight and head towards these coordinates. I will send a team to intercept you on the way. Remain off regular channels for as long as possible. Vibes out.::

The swiftness of her delivery and the abruptness of her appearance and disappearance on the QCN delivered the underlying urgency of her tone like a bullet. Everyone reeled from the metaphorical blow.

::You heard her,:: said Optimus sternly to Jazz. ::We'll send the distraction, then you and the rest will head towards that location.::

::What about Beachbreak?:: asked Smokescreen.

::He can handle himself,:: Jazz said, with much more confidence than he had said it the first time. ::Jazz out.::

Jazz cut the line to the officer's QCN, effectively cutting Smokescreen off from saying anything more to the high command. The diversionary tactician immediately turned his attention back to his surroundings, while Jazz switched to the Special Ops QCN and pinged everyone, Beachbreak included.

::Team, these are the new coordinates. After the next escape pod drops, we head there. Let's hope that Beachbreak gets the message.::

* * *

Beachbreak, in fact, did not get the message. His communication systems hadn't been working properly ever since he was rescued by Killjoy, so he had basically assumed the others were under radio silence (or his systems were damaged).

On the other hand, Killjoy did.

The private communication signal that Vibes had sent had seemed wholly out of place in the skies above India, and though the Indian population weren't exactly as bright as Killjoy, she had already picked up about four separate systems that had either attempted to hack or record that message. And if the humans were interested in that alien communication link, then so was Killjoy. She had hacked and deciphered the link too easily, however, and now she spent a breem or so wondering if she should tell her companion about what she had found out, if she had found anything at all. Then she realized that it wouldn't matter if said message was a fake because Beachbreak's friends would probably be going there anyway, and if they were going there then so was Beachbreak, and if Beachbreak was going, then so was Killjoy.

Thus, she began to plan.

When they saw the mountains in the distance, Killjoy calculated the precise moment when she should tell him about Vibes.

"I've just intercepted communications from Autobot Sub-Commander Vibes," she said aloud, not pausing in her walkings.

"Vibes?" said Beachbreak, confusion flickering across his face. "I don't remember her that well."

"She just sent a message to a ship in orbit. She's informed someone called 'Optimus' of the state of affairs down here. She is aware that they have sent a landing party to the surface and she has sent out a series of coordinates for them to head towards."

Beachbreak shook his helm. "How did you decipher that?"

"I have a battle computer, and she wasn't exactly trying to hide it either. About four Earthling systems picked up the transmission." She frowned. "They were not able to translate it, however, because it was too brief."

"But you could?" he sounded skeptic.

"They are primitive, and I am much more advanced than the average Cybertronian." Killjoy glanced backwards over the forest and halted, taking in the sight of the barely visible path of missing trees. "That tunnel is not natural. Your friends came this way."

His head jerked in the direction hers was facing, but his look of confusion meant he had not interpreted the same from what he was seeing. "You know best, I suppose," he answered.

"I am concerned," she continued, redirecting their approach in a way that they'd parallel the tunnel. "It was not wise of Vibes to send out this communication. Any nearby intelligence could pick it up and intercept your Autobot friends."

"She might have been sent out here because of her poor decision making skills," mused Beachbreak.

Killjoy almost laughed, knowing that Beachbreak was going to later find out that Vibes was Jazz's bonded and that he would find he shouldn't say that about his superior's wife. "This is not the first time her poor decision making skills has put someone in danger."

"First time?" echoed Beachbreak. "You met her?"

"Yes and no."

"Uh… what?"

Killjoy didn't respond, and Beachbreak decided not to press the matter. Most of what she said had confused him and he had already given up on trying to translate.

"How was she able to get the communications out of the atmosphere? Any QCN she might have established when she was an active part of the war would have become outdated and destroyed."

Killjoy stopped walking and gave him a blank glance, she was so surprised. "I… beg your pardon?"

He looked like a deer in the headlights. "Uh…? QCN?"

"What is that?"

"A quantum communication network. Don't you have those on your planet?"

"Well, we did, once, when the Cybernet was still up." She frowned thoughtfully at him. "But I don't know if they are the same thing… What did you mean 'how was she able to get the communications out of the atmosphere'?"

"Well, our regular communication systems can't pierce the atmosphere of this planet. Too much organic matter in orbit."

"Why didn't you just bounce it off a satellite?"

"Those floating orbital things…?"

"Yes."

"They aren't compatible with our systems."

"Well, then." Killjoy frowned. "Your people need to rescan those satellites because Vibes must have found one that was compatible. She bounced her signal off it to send it to your friends."

"But that's not possible? We don't have the equipment to transmit over those primitive things."

"But Vibes does," Killjoy said, realizing something. "She's had more than fifty stellar cycles to figure it out. She bounced it off an Earth satellite and transmitted it in a way that it could be picked up by your Cybertronian receivers." And suddenly, a wave of dread suddenly fell over Killjoy. "Great Polaris."

"What? _What_?"

"I was wrong about Vibes," she said by way of explanation. "And I really wish I wasn't. Your friends need to disappear from space soon because Vibes might have just attracted the very wrong kind of attention with that little stunt she pulled."

"What kind of attention?"

"Vehicons."

"Are they Terrans?"

"No, they aren't Terrans. They are servants of the Hivemaster."

"Hivemaster? Is that the name of an Insecticon?"

She turned around and looked him squarely in the optic, startling Beachbreak so much that he backed up. "Listen to me and listen very carefully. The Hivemaster – or the Mentor, or whatever he calls himself nowadays – is the greatest threat this universe could ever know. He is a controller, a telepath, and the mastermind behind _everything_ on this planet. If you think you are in control of the situation, then think again because Hivemaster maneuvered you there so that he could take advantage of the aftermath. He is no Insecticon – he is a monster, pure and simple, and he doesn't belong to _any_ race or world."

Beachbreak smiled weakly. "You're pretty passionate about this."

She turned away from him, annoyed that he didn't seem to be taking her seriously.

"Why do you hate him so much?"

Killjoy walked away. "You should hate him, too. He is completely against what you stand for."

Beachbreak found that to be the most confusing thing his guide had said so far. "And what do I stand for?"

"Autonomy."

Beachbreak actually stopped for a long second. "…is that what Vibes told you? That we Autobots stand for autonomy?" He huffed, and said bitterly. "She must be far removed from the war indeed."

Killjoy looked at him, fully expecting the whole story to suddenly unfold. "Go on."

The minibot looked surprised. "Uhm, well, it's a long story. And shouldn't we be helping the other Autobots?"

"I have learned recently that if someone avoids trying to say something, or gets stopped from saying it, then what they have to say is probably very important." She looked at the Insecticons, who were still seated prettily on the mountain side. Something was streaking across the night sky, spewing a fiery tail as it entered Earth's atmosphere. She dismissed it as a comet and turned her attention to calculating the odds they had of defeating the Insecticons if they took them by surprise. "But this can wait."

Beachbreak was more interested in the comet. "Jazz must have radioed for reinforcements."

Killjoy looked up at him and followed his gaze towards the comet. "It's going to land southwest of us."

"But why send only one?" he asked Killjoy. "They can't possibly know about the Insecticon's weakness yet."

Killjoy tilted her helm. "Your friends are northeast of here." When he looked inquiringly at her, she gestured to a rising cloud of black smoke in the distance.

"It's a distraction," said Beachbreak, suddenly. "Smokescreen's our diversionary tactician. He excels at distractions."

Killjoy immediately scanned the comet. "The Insecticons won't be interested in _that_. There's no spark signature."

"What do you mean?"

"The attack pattern is territorial. If they were just hunting down the Cybertronians to eat them, those hunters wouldn't be here. Those hunter Insecticons are only sent into the field when they feel their territory is being overrun."

"I meant the cloud of smoke."

"The Insecticons would be able to see right through that. They can sense the energy of anyone who might try to pass through the smoke. They'd have a better chance of tricking the Insecticons into the clouds and then sicking them on each other."

Beachbreak looked conflicted. "Why would they land an empty escape pod on this side of the mountain if they were over there?"

"Depositing weapons?"

"No, they'd have just sent the weapon specialist. Besides, we don't have anything to combat them."

"Then perhaps the escape pod is the distraction. It does have an energy signature – perhaps even a few cubes of raw energon." Killjoy was interested in _that,_ even if the Insecticon hunters weren't. The placid Insecticon scavengers with their narrow purple eyes stayed high in the sky, clustering around where the comet would surely pass through. "Do you have acid guns?"

"Well, yes, though we probably would have to send another shipment with them in it. Are you saying that'll work?"

"It'll chew through their armor, but it might take a while. Best to use those on those gatherers up there." Killjoy gestured towards the black dots in the sky which Beachbreak couldn't see.

"It'll be landing soon," said Beachbreak, his optic on the comet.

A sudden burst of energy from the smoke cloud attracted Killjoy's attention and she squinted at it's location through the trees. "What are they doing?"

"What?" Beachbreak followed her gaze, again confused by things he could not see. "What?"

"They are firing their plasma weapons at something," she explained. "That'll attract the Insecticon's attention for sure, even if they stay away for a bit."

"Why would they stay away?" Beachbreak asked.

"It's a lot like a **flashbang** **grenade** , only without the noise." She realized there was no Cybertronian equivalent for flashbang or grenade. "It's blinding."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Beachbreak asked.

"If they wanted to run out of energy quicker and attract their attention better, then yes."

Realizing they weren't going to get anything done standing around, Killjoy decided to go on the offensive. "Right, so here's the plan. You go over there and try to figure out what's going on and stop them from attracting attention to themselves. I'll head over to wherever that comet is going to land and see if I can't get it to land on a few Insecticons. If things go according to plan, I'll be joining you guys half-way to Vibes' place."

"How will you catch up?" he asked, not moving.

"I can swim," she responded, and started to leave, stepping out inside the tunnel.

"Wait!" he shouted. "You never told me your designation!"

"You never told me yours!" she shouted back.

"It's Beachbreak!"

"It's **Killjoy**!"

And like that, the black, white and grey mech was gone.

Beachbreak frowned, trying to form the alien word in his vocalizer.

" **Killjoy**? What a weird name."

* * *

The tunnel had little protection from optics in the sky, but Killjoy didn't particularly care about that right now. After all, she was _trying_ to get their attention.

Her energy absorption field masked her spark signature and made her invisible to the Insecticon's optics. She had it on at all times and had no idea how to turn it off, which meant attracting their attention wouldn't be easy _unless_ she made herself into a bigger threat than the Autobots. And one virtually invisible Cybertronian with a railgun was pretty much an Insecticon's worst nightmare.

Well, probably not, but it was close enough.

Her railgun shoulder canons activated, whirling to life. Two shots took out two of the hunters at the top, their punctured carcasses tumbling down the cliff to the bottom. Immediately the swarm redirected their attention to her – or, more precisely, the only energy signature that was coming from that direction. They carefully considered the comet that was streaking over the forest, but weren't entire convinced it was a threat.

Another shot took out an insecticon halfway up the mountain, which immediately attracted the attention of the hunters, who now knew the source of these dangerous weapons. They lunged towards her, some skittering across the grown and others launching themselves into the air. This time, they tried to crash through the canopy to get to their target, not hanging back like before. This target needed to be taken out immediately. She immediately threw herself out of the tunnel, back into the thickness of the forest where there was more protection from grabbing legs and double mouthed insectoid monsters.

She had her dagger out ready to chop off a few legs if they came close, but she was moving quick enough that that was nearly impossible. An insecticon crashed through the tree trunks behind her, flattening the forest and sending a tree top falling in her direction. She rolled out of the way and made a dash through the forest, ducking and dodging and weaving, using her minibot size to her advantage to get to the seaside as quickly as possible.

It took a full breem before the sounds of thundering insecticon wings suddenly declined. She was halfway around the mountain peaks when they slackened off, and she was horrified to discover they were converging on the Autobots' last known location.

" **No, no, no!** " she shouted at them, but they ignored her. She fired a round at one of the fleeing hunters but this hardly deterred them, even as its carcass crashed into the trees, bleeding.

She was standing for a long moment in the silent forest, trying to process the reason behind the Insecticon's sudden disappearance. Her logic computer came back with a response and it sent a chill down her backstrut.

There was a far more dangerous threat out in that direction than one Cybertronian carrying an effective and dangerous weapon, and she should not stick around to find out what exactly that was.

But she needed more rounds for her railgun and there was an Insecticon carcass just a stone throw's away. She made a beeline for it, her long dagger easily cutting through the thick hide, peeling off chunks that she quickly shoved into subspace. Her energy absorption field ate away at the leaking energon pooling beneath the Insecticon, giving her a much needed energy boost. She stayed for about a minute and a half, and then quickly departed. She went southeast, hoping her slight eastward direction might allow her to cross paths with signs that the Autobots had passed through. If not, she hoped to see them at the sea.

* * *

The situation had rapidly deteriorated shortly after they had cut communications with high command. Smokescreen and Mirage stood at the exit to the tunnel they were in, overlooking the sharp drop into the gorge, when Hound shouted a warning. Something inside the tunnels had started to move.

Jazz immediately responded. ::Mirage, get us a line to the chasm floor and get Smokescreen outta here!::

Mirage immediately did as he was bid, lodging a grappling hook into the cliff wall above his head and dropping down into the floor of the gorge. Smokescreen immediately followed, his doorwings informing him that one of his fellow Autobots was close behind him. His head was turned downward towards the floor, so he landed safely beside Mirage rather than on top of him. When he looked back up, Bumblebee and Hound were in hot pursuit, with Jazz on top with his weapon pointed back towards the caves. He wasn't firing, but that didn't mean it wasn't an insecticon.

::It's clear!:: said Bumblebee.

Jazz executed a perfect maneuver, hooking himself to the walk wall, throwing himself away from the rock wall and falling semi-rapidly to the bottom just as something lunged at him from the tunnels.

It was a reptilian shape with a rounded velociraptor nose and pale-white optics that reminded Smokescreen of brain dead patients he had seen throughout the war. It moved with swift but jerky movements, long nail-like claws gripping the rock easily as it stepped out into the silvery light of the moon. It had no tail, a short compact body and long legs that made his body whip around with each halting step. Another one joined the first, but it was half the size and slithered underneath the other's body, it's long tail flopping around behind it as it clung to the rock wall. Smokescreen could see two more heads behind the first one's, but they seem to come from the same body.

::What are those things?:: Mirage asked, horrified.

::They _look_ like Predacons,:: said Hound. ::I"ve seen fossilized versions of them at museums in Iacon.::

::What are _Predacons_ doing on alien atmospheric planet?:: Bumblebee wondered.

::Smokescreen, give us some cover,:: Jazz ordered.

The tactician revved his engines loudly, starting up his smoke dispenser unit. Black smoke began to billow from his exhaust ports, rolling thick and dark on the floor around them before slowly starting to rise. He reached behind him and grabbed Mirage by the elbow – the spy already had his gun out and ready to fire – and dragged them closer so Smokescreen could grab Jazz and the others in the dark. His doorwings sensors registered rapid movement coming from the cliffside and his shoulder cannons immediately took aim and fired.

These creatures, whatever they were, weren't immune to energy blasts. The first one howled in fury at being hit and then began to move much faster, right towards Smokescreen. Mirage fired off a round in the same general direction Smokescreen had, and was rewarded with the sound of the wounded beast crashing into the floor where it wiggled and limped around before Jazz's vibroblade put it out of its misery. The other two were more hesitent to follow.

::Hound, Mirage is right behind you,:: Smokescreen informed them. ::Bumblebee, walk back two steps and right one. Hound, he'll show up on your left.::

::I have Hound,:: Mirage reported.

::Got 'Bee,:: Hound responded.

::Let's move out.:: Jazz had already started to pull the gang in another direction even as Smokescreen took aim at the two-headed monster and blew off what he assumed was it's second head. An angry howl met this attack and the creature bolted down the cliff face, but another bolt of plasma finished it off. The smaller one watched from its perch and remained idle, white optics following them as they kept the darkness between them and it.

Jazz had turned the entire team around so that they were headed towards the mountains when Smokescreen sensed movement up on the rim. The rootmode shape of the new person caused Smokescreen pause and his hesitation made Jazz stop.

::What is it?::

::I don't know,:: said Smokescreen. ::But there's someone up on the rim of this chasm.::

::A person?:: wondered Hound.

::Can you detect anything, Hound?:: Jazz asked him.

" _Hello?"_ came a familiar voice echoing down the chasm. " _Jazz! Hound! Smokescreen! Mudflap! Mirage! Bumblebee!"_

The team of five mechs suddenly straightened at that sound, a collective sigh of relief was breathed.

"Get yer aft down here, Beachbreak!"

There was a moment's hesitation before Beachbreak's own relieved response answered him.

" _Yes, sir!_ "

Smokescreen interrupted the reunion pretty quickly.

"We've got more of those things inbound!"

The small creature had stayed perched on the rockface as yet more creatures began to haltingly crawl out of it. Reptiles much like the first one and felines like lions, tigers and leopards began to leap from the ledge and poor into the chasm, swarming at the bottom and tracking the Autobots with their noses. Pale off-white eyes stared after the Autobots as they reunited with Beachbreak and made a quick exit up the tip of the gorge and back into the forest.

"That smoke doesn't seem to be affecting them," Smokescreen informed Jazz.

"Affecting _what_?" Beachbreak asked.

"Predacons, as far as we can tell?"

Beachbreak looked pale. "It's just one nightmare after another, huh?"

Smokescreen and the others looked confusedly at Beachbreak at that statement, but were interrupted by the sound of Insecticons thundering overhead and descending into the smoke as if it were nothing. Beachbreak immediately gestured for them to leave and they all disappeared into the forest. Jazz immediately turned to the minibot.

"Why haven't ya been answerin' yer comms?" he demanded.

"Broken or dead. I don't know which," Beachbreak answered. "I've got news to report, sir. I've met one of natives."

"So have we," Mirage commented drily with a glance back over his shoulders.

"That's not very helpful news, Break," Jazz informed him.

"No, I mean I've spoken with one of the natives. He's called **Killjoy** , and he intercepted that message Vibes sent. He plans to meet up with us on the way to those coordinates. Also, he told me that acid weapons and sharp metal is the only effective weapon against these Insecticons, and that any energy based weapon will be swallowed up by their energy absorption fields. The mech's got two shoulder cannons that can punch straight through those big Insecticons and their shell armor."

"Good work, Break," Jazz responded with a grin. "But we can't stick around and wait for him. Autobots, transform and move out."

They blazed a trail straight to the sea without any further interruptions or meetings. At Beachbreak's insistence, they waited a joor or so for the Terran's arrival. She did not disappoint.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killjoy regroups with the Autobots and they head toward's the rendezvous point...

 

The alien forest surrounding them was as still and quiet as when the team first arrived on the planet's surface. The sky had turned a pale blue color with the rising of the local star, an ugly reddish purple disappearing quickly with the retreating night. A tense silence filled the small clearing they had picked out as a temporary camp while waiting for the local Terran to arrive. They had dug out a spot beneath a large boulder to call a temporary home, with two guards posted outside. With Hound and Mirage on guard and Bumblebee close by the entrance, Jazz determined it was safe to tell Beachbreak about the Sub-Commander's transmission.

The black and white sat back when he was done, appearing comfortable even on the unfamiliar and bumpy ground. "So, ya can understand why I'm concerned about him," he finished.

"He  _did_ rescue me from the Insecticons," responded Beachbreak and then he grimaced slightly. "Though I can understand why Vibes'd think that."

"Oh?" Smokescreen asked, his serious expression not having changed since they had left those things in the gorge. His battle computer was running overtime trying to figure out how to save the team from them and now  _also_ the Insecticon, but he didn't have enough information on either of them and he didn't like it. He knew he had to know everything there was to know about this mech and this planet if he wanted him and the rest of the team to get out of here alive. That was a lot of pressure on a divisionary tactician.

"Yes, uh," Beachbreak said, pausing as he thought through his words carefully. "I got the distinct impression that he… was willing to survive off dead Insecticon carcasses."

Smokescreen tensed, his optics visibly whitening, and not only because his battle computer was running overtime. That was a variable he had never had to deal with before. There wasn't even a word for cannibal in Cybertronian, and the closest they had to it was Sparkeater.

Jazz's lips were turned down slightly in a frown, and he simply nodded as if he had expected that answer.

"How so?" asked Smokescreen.

Beachbreak sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position, his brow pinched in thought. " **Killjoy**  said that metal on this planet was scarce, whether it was Cybertronian metal or Terran metal, and he said that, if we had more time, he would have made a meal out of one of the Insecticon carcasses." He paused, his optics tracking back and forth in thought. "He said himself that he would have put some of the Insecticon's processed energon into my energon cube if he had the time. He didn't," he added to clarify, afraid they would think he had participated in cannibalism, "but he would have. To top it off, the mech has some kind of energy absorption field which makes him immune to my weapons and which seems to keep him fueled. I'm not sure how much energy it fuels him with, but I'm guessing that it isn't enough to survive on forever, only enough for him to use to get to his next meal. Also,  **Killjoy**  wasn't afraid when I pointed my plasma pistol at him."

Smokescreen nodded absently, quietly absorbing all this information with a stoic expression. Jazz watched him for a klik before nodding at Beachbreak. "Is he the one who told you that metal blades are effective against these things?"

"Yes, and he has two shoulder cannons which fire metal projectiles at an high velocity. The result is devastating." He shuddered, remembering the hole in the Insecticon where the hunter's face used to be.

The saboteur nodded, touching a finger to his chin thoughtfully as he raised an optic ridge at Smokescreen, "The same could apply to those things in that gorge."

"He did say that other Terrans had the same modifications, but I don't know whether or not those things could be considered 'Terrans'. Then again, he called the Insecticons Terrans so…" Beachbreak shrugged. "He didn't tell me much about the other variations of Cybertronian life on this planet. All I really know are a few names; Vehicons, Insecticons, Cybernet and Hivemaster were pretty much it." He paused. "He also seemed to know about Vibes, but when I asked if they had met he said 'yes and no'."

Jazz raised an optic brow at that. "Did he explain why?"

"No. Most of what he was saying was confusing, so I thought it might be a mistranslation. Our language packets don't seem to match all the time and I get the feeling that some things are getting lost in translation."

"We should give him an updated language packet at the earliest possible convenience," said Smokescreen, his denta gritting so hard that it sparked. "And then I want to have a thorough talk with him  _if_  he arrives."

"If?" asked Beachbreak, curious and concerned.

Jazz glanced at Smokescreen, before addressing Beachbreak. "A survivor's mentality isn't exactly stable," he reminded Beachbreak, "especially if we assume that he is some survivor of a war."

"I got a good look at him," said Beachbreak. "He might be some kind of survivor, but he showed none of the symptoms of a PTSD we'd expect from an outpost survivor, or even that of a stranded neutral. But… he does bear the symbol of the Autobots. A gold one." His fingers pointed toward a spot beyond his shoulders, where Killjoy's right wing would be as he glanced between the two officers, curious. "Do you know of any Autobot division with that color of insignia?"

Jazz shrugged. "Ah don't recall an Autobot sig any other color than red."

Smokescreen frowned as he checked his database. "The Autobot's symbol is much older than the war, Beachbreak," he said, "It used to be called the Face of Primus, before the religious caste decided to adopt a new insignia that more befitted what they believed was better representative of Prime."

"The blue-gray square thing?"

"Yeah." Smokescreen smiled and shrugged, his optics returning to their normal blue-purple color. "The Autobot insignia was originally going to be blue before it was decided on red."

"Wasn't that based off what we thought was Primus' optic color?" asked Beachbreak.

The two commanding officers had a look on their faces, like that which an adult gets when they don't want to tell their child something. Beachbreak shrugged and didn't pry.

"Regardless of whether he was or is a survivor of an Autobot outpost," said Smokescreen slowly, "or just a native, we need to be weary. A lone Cybertronian, especially one on this planet, cannot possibly be firing on all cylinders."

"You and Bee should keep an optic out for yer friend," said Jazz. "Ah'm goin' to wait another breem for him to show up. Give him some time to find us."

Beachbreak nodded and took the dismissal as it was, walking over to Bumblebee with his back hunched over as he scraped the ceiling. Jazz immediately turned away from him so his voice didn't carry as he whispered. "What chu thinkin', Smokes? Should we trust this guy?"

"Vibes said to assume all inhabitants were hostile," said Smokescreen thoughtfully, "but that doesn't necessarily mean they all  _are_."

"Doesn't mean he's a friendly either," Jazz pointed out. "Ah don't like waiting on someone Ah don't know nothin' about."

"But it is necessary," said Smokescreen softly, grimacing and wrapping his arms around his chest as if he was suddenly cold. "He seems to know how to survive out here and if worse comes to worse we can defend ourselves." Smokescreen looked at Jazz. "It's your call."

Jazz frowned. "Ah don't like waitin' here for someone who probably won't show up, in territory that we  _know_  is hostile and while we have little in the way of defense." The saboteur looked thoughtful. "How long until those Insecticons find us?"

"I don't know," said Smokescreen. "There isn't enough information. I don't think we should stay in one place for more than a few breems. There's no telling when those things will try to track us."

"I agree with ya, Smokes. We'll wait, but if the guy doesn't show,  _we_  go," said Jazz decisively.

* * *

Whatever she had managed to gather from the fallen and abandoned Insecticon hunter, Killjoy ate along the way. It was hard to consume the metal with her small mouth, even with her new shark teeth, but a half-transformation into her solved the problem effectively. She could still feel the metal in her system as her nanobot driven digestive track worked away at it, adding it to her armor or transforming it into more ammunition. For the first time in forever, she felt better. Like the kind of better one can only be after eating a full meal.

She reached the beach a few minutes later and waited patiently for her sensors to pick up the Autobot's blatantly obvious signatures. She wasn't too terribly worried about not finding them before sun up; the Insecticons had fled the whole area the moment the lights in the nearby fisherman's village started turning on their candle lights. If it had been stormy and rainy, then the whole situation would have been very different and she'd have urged herself to find the Autobot's position ASAP. Now the only thing she had to worry about was making sure the Autobots were far enough away from the humans so they weren't spotted when they crossed the India Ocean to get to Taiwan.

Killjoy was an orca whose form was blurred by the darkness of the deep water and whose fin was so far out that not even the sharp-eyed fisherman could identify her from a regular giant fish. Her sensors could pierce the murky depths as easily as they could the land, but better due to her echo location. Any possible Sharkticons in the water would be easily spotted – if they were even real. She wasn't exactly sure whether she had made them up or not, or if she was letting her transfan life get to her, but she wasn't about to start taking chances. She swam eastward for a bit, getting as close to the town as she dared, before she spotted their signatures deeper in the forest than expected.

She climbed up on shore further west than where she started out and picked her way through the forest until she was near their location. Her small size, which she had never liked since the moment she woke up, allowed her to walk under the trees without ducking too much. They were near a rocky hill, in a small dip on one side which looked obviously unnatural and too large to be man-made. Any human happening upon this scene would know exactly what was up. There was one guard outside that she couldn't see, which she took as a good sign, and another she identified as Bumblebee just inside the tiny cave.

Killjoy quickly wrote up a program that didn't automatically attach names to mecha's body types and faces. She couldn't have her transfan side wrecking any future relationships between herself and the Autobots, and knowing their names before meeting them would certainly ring alarm bells, even if she hid it very well. Yellow Bot would have to be called yellow bot until they were gracious enough to give her his name.

A snapped twig immediately drew her attention to the invisible guard, who was nowhere near where that sound had come from. The area to her left was empty of anything large and menacingly purple in sight, but two flattened patches of grass in the shape of footprints told her that place wasn't empty. Her doorwings picked up the other guard circling around her, and there was a flash of yellow from the tunnels. She had been spotted. Perhaps some kind of program to prevent her amateurish moments from shining through would also be a wise investment in the near future.

A familiar helm peaked out of the dip, and she recognized the distinct shape of one Beachbreak.

"Hey!" he greeted. " **Killjoy** , wasn't it?"

"Beachbreak," she greeted stiltedly. "These two invisi-bots yours?" There was a startled shifting of wind currents to her left. The other guy was less obviously startled, putting his hands on his hips and leaning forward, though not fast enough to cause a ripple in the hologram surrounding him.

"Friends of mine," Beachbreak confirmed, without even bothering to look around. "Let me get Jazz."

The moment Beachbreak disappeared, the yellow bot's popped up as he pulled himself out of the hole. The dust-covered minibot look almost tan in the dawn light, and his sea-green optics only added to the very Terran look he was projecting. That, plus the lack of self-consciousness at being less than clean or even at having to use his hands to get out of the hole, was helping that image tremendously. She was immediately suspicious of the smile he beamed at her and she delivered a flat look at him.

"And you are…?" she asked, annoyed.

"Heh, sorry, designation's Bumblebee," he greeted with a sheepish look. "Nice to meet you,  **Killjoy**. I'm pronouncing that right, right?"

"Yes," she responded. "And your two buddies?" She glanced at said buddies, though it was obvious the one on her left had moved. "Well, there  _was_  two of them."

Bumblebee smirked, pride in his friend. "Mirage's one of the best. I'm not surprised you can't see him."

"He can't beat my echolocation," corrected Killjoy. "He can hide his scent, his noise, his energy signature, but he can't dodge a sound wave."

"Touché," the yellow bot said with a shrug. "Can all Terrans do that?"

"Only those adapted to travel by ocean," answered Killjoy.

"You can swim in an ocean?" asked the invisible mech with his hands on his hips, the one that hadn't disappeared.

"Yes, one made out of water," said Killjoy. The Cybertronian word for 'ocean' meant 'body of energy or rust'. "Not rust or energon. I'm sorry, but which one are you? Mirage or invisible mech number two?"

"Sorry," he said, dropping his hologram and giving a short bow, a gentle smile in his optics. "Name's Hound. I'm curious but do you rust?"

"There's a certain crystal that grows in metal that can help prevent corrosion. It's very similar to what you call 'helix crystals' but some properties differ. There's no other word for it in your language."

Beachbreak reappeared behind Bumblebee with a slightly taller black and white mech following and an even taller doorwinger behind him.

"Sounds almost Praxian," said the saboteur with a grin. "Name's Jazz. This here's Smokescreen, and you've already met the rest of my team."

Killjoy glanced at everyone, putting spark signatures to faces. Her doorwings fluttered. "Anyone else out there that I should know about?"

"One of our number got eaten by one of those bug things," said Jazz, nonchalantly.

"Then I'll add that one to their numbers," she responded. "While the star is up, they won't bother you unless you head straight into the wilderness. Fortunately, your friend's coordinates puts you in Omnicon and Otherworlder territory, so you can completely by-pass any large unpopulated areas."

"Are you going to escort us there?" asked Smokescreen, his optics once again pale blue-purple as his battle computer overworked. It was slightly unnerving, almost like the optics of a sparkeater.

"Yes and no," came her level response. "The ocean between us and there is my territory. I own the seas."  _It is so easy to lie._  "I'd like to see you try and cross it  _without_  my aid."

Jazz actually smiled at that response, which Killjoy took as a good sign. "All right, all right, mech," he said soothingly. "What we gotta do?"

"I'm going to need more mass. Fortunately, I know where we can find the mass I need. Unfortunately, it's in the other direction." Killjoy pointed back towards where the Insecticons had chased her away from the mountain and then disengaged her to deal with something else.

"Further into the wilderness?" Jazz guessed, his face thoughtful and serious.

"Yes, and I can't have you guys alerting the sentient organics nearby so you have to come with me."

"Why are the organics a problem?" asked Smokescreen.

"There's a reason why the Insecticons stay out of their hearing range," Killjoy said, "and that's all I need to know. We have two joors until the dark cycle falls again. I'll need as much solar light as I can get to pick up the Insecticon carcasses and drag them out to sea so I can properly utilize them."

"So, you're going to cannibalize them?" asked Beachbreak tentatively.

"Yes and no. On this planet, we prefer the term 'scavenge'."

* * *

The Terran knew exactly where he was going. He lead them, or rather scouted ahead and occasionally doubling back to make sure they weren't lost, straight to the carcass of an Insecticon. From the damage of the large beetle, Smokescreen guess that Killjoy had used the exact same weapon on it as he had used on the one Beachbreak had seen.

Beachbreak shuddered at the sight. "Imagine if he used that on one of us."

"He?" asked the Terran. The short stack was slightly taller than Bumblebee, who barely reached up to Smokescreen's hip. "He who?"

"You," said Beachbreak.

"I am female," he – er, she – said stiffly. Her right doorwing flicked as she turned away from their discussion.

"I'm sorry," said Beachbreak, his optics wide in shock. "I can't read your energy signature."

"I'll take it as a compliment, then," she responded absently, already tearing at the big Insecticon's metal and shoving large chunks into subspace. "I can convert this quicker in the water. Once I've got this heavy armor off, you can carry the rest of the carcass to the bay."

Hound and Jazz both stepped up to carcass, the latter's off-putting size belaying his incredible strength. Jazz aided in hacking away at the armor with his vibro-blades, which served just as well as Killjoy's blue dirk.

"She has a downtown Iaconian accent," commented Bumblebee, his voice low so their new friend didn't hear. "Except more growly."

"I can't understand her easily because of it," said Beachbreak, glancing at Jazz. "I wasn't a linguistic agent before the war."

"I like growly," said Smokescreen absently. "It's soothing for the doorwings."

"Her voice is pretty deep, too," said Bumblebee, with a raised optic ridge directed at Smokescreen. "A mech, female, doorwings, 'soothing voice' – that's got your name written all over it." The flat expression Smokescreen delivered his way made him chuckle. "Just making sure that battle computer hasn't taken over completely." Bumblebee paused. "Please tell me you feel something fishy about this situation, too? I have a feeling that not everything here is as it would seem. Why is she helping us?"

Smokescreen shrugged. "It might not matter to us. She only just met us." He glanced at Beachbreak. "Though I'd like to know why she helped Beachbreak, we can't exactly start interrogating her right here and now. We might be seen as trying to make enemies of ourselves. Besides, I haven't seen any other native around here willing to help us. Unless you've been withholding information?" Bumblebee shook his head. "Then we're stuck with her."

"She isn't that bad," said Beachbreak. "Very blunt and very passionate about her mission, but not that bad."

Smokescreen's doorwings twitched. "Her mission?"

"To destroy someone called the Hivemaster," he explained. "She hates the guy. I don't know exactly what he did to earn it, though."

"Do you think this could help her achieve her goal?"

"The Hivemaster is an AI. That's not something you can beat up with a few extra tons of armor."

Killjoy's voice interrupted them though she wasn't paying any of them any attention. "I will need more metal than this if I am to carry all of you." She looked to Jazz. "There's more than one carcass in the gorge. Me and your buddy Mirage could sneak in without being spotted and sneak out with the metal I need."

"What about those things in the gorge?" asked Bumblebee, warily.

"If they are what I think they are then the Insecticons would have slaughtered them," she responded, leaping off the armorless Insecticon and heading towards the forest. "The Insecticons wouldn't risk  _those things_  being alive around here in their prime territory."

The Autobots glanced at each other, and Smokescreen felt a helmache coming on. All this mech did was speak in riddles. She was obviously withholding information, and that was off-putting. No wonder Bumblebee felt something off. Smokescreen was sure both of them weren't the only ones.

"So, it's safe?" asked Bumblebee doubtfully.

"Yes," she responded.

Jazz looked towards Mirage. "Raj?"

"Of course." The blue and white masked mech glanced at Smokescreen before following Killjoy into the alien forest. He glanced back. "We'll meet you at the bay."

Jazz gave him the thumbs up. The moment the Terran was out of hearing range, he returned his attention to the others. "All right, mechs, time to move this bucket of bolts to the ocean."

"Is she coming with us all the way to Vibes?" asked Beachbreak.

"Ah don't know," said Jazz, grimacing. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Let's get a move on."

* * *

The team made good time to the bay – a sandy shallow beach that was hemmed in on all sides by thick, tangled growths and was filled with water that rose up to Smokescreen's ankles. It was less than half a joor since the Terran and Mirage had disappeared when both returned with one of the Sparkeater bodies slung over the Terran's shoulder. Her shoulder cannons had disappeared, retracted into her back, and her reddish-brown optics had colored, less pale than before, adopting an almost dark brown hue. She surveyed the Insecticon's carcass half-submerged in the water and seemed satisfied with what they had done with it. Smokescreen decided to take that as a good sign.

"I'll be back in eight breems," she told them. "Don't leave the bay and don't let any of the bipedal organics spot you." Without a glance back, she took the sparkeater body and headed out of the bay into deeper ocean, disappearing beneath the rippling surface.

"Eight breems?" said Bumblebee, glancing at Beachbreak. "What can she do with it in eight breems?"

The blue and white minibot shrugged. Jazz gestured for the Autobots to disperse and they found areas where they could hide, while Smokescreen, Jazz and Mirage found some foliage to talk under.

"Well?" Jazz asked Mirage.

"I don't have much on  **Killjoy** ," he said. "Those things in the gorge, on the other hand, are all dead. The Insecticons wiped them out, just like she said. They are called 'sparkeaters'." His nose wrinkled a bit at that name. "If I had not seen the damage they could do, I wouldn't have believed it."

"Insecticons, sparkeaters, Terrans," said Smokescreen, shaking his head. "This planet is one nightmare after another."

"With  **Killjoy**  the lesser of three evils," agreed Mirage. "That's all I have to report, sir."

Jazz crossed his arms and sat down, ignoring the muck and grim that clung to his aft because of it. "Ah can't wait to get back to Vibes. For more reasons than one."

Smokescreen nodded. "I hope Optimus Prime isn't thinking about bringing the whole team down here."

Jazz shrugged, suddenly thoughtful as he looked over Smokescreen's shoulder. "Those shoulder cannons of hers-?"

" _There's something coming up from the bay!_ " called Hound.

Immediately the three Autobots turned their attention to the thing in the water. A triangular-shaped fin stuck out of the waves, black with a edge of dark grey, with a flipper raised partially above the water's surface. Much larger than Killjoy had been, the great beast was mostly submerged, half rotated in the water, with its great maw clamped shut on the armorless Insecticon's endoskeleton. A sharp blue optic swiveled from its prize to their exact location, glancing between the three of them as if they weren't ducked behind the foliage and were standing out on the beach as clear as day. Then, it slowly backed out into the sea and fully submerged within the murky depths, raking the Insecticon across the bottom and stirring up murky brown soil that mixed with the water.

"Was  _that_  our friend?" asked Mirage, looking with disgust at the water.

Smokescreen opened the Special Ops QCN to Hound, pinging him for the answer to that exact question. He was surprised that the answer surprised him. "Good guess, Mirage. It has the same exact signature as our friend did."

"That thing was nearly twice her mass," said Mirage with a slight frown. "And it hasn't even been a breem. How'd she do it?"

Smokescreen shuddered to think what that monster could do to one of his teammates. "Let's hope her friendliness towards us doesn't change with her size."

Mirage nodded agreement.

Smokescreen sat back and observed quietly, watching and waiting for the monster to return, perhaps to finish them off. A new question seemed to hang over them; now that she was much larger, could she turn her strength and power against them and turn them into her next meal? It was a terrifying prospect.

Killjoy returned once more, earlier than she said she would, but all they saw of her was her triangular fin out in the deep water. Hound didn't need to notify the others of her arrival, every knew the instant her dark shadow appeared near the shore. The galaxy's star was midway through the sky when she finally transformed and dragger herself onto shore. The Autobots watched as the massive underwater monster shrank to nearly half its size, and a thick bodied Praxian stood knee deep in the bay. Her brownish-red optics and blue chevron, plus her black, white and grey paintjob, looked exactly like Killjoys', and Hound confirmed that their signatures were the same.

" **Killjoy** ," Jazz hailed her, noting belatedly that she was much larger than him now, easily surpassing Smokescreen's height by a small amount and his width by a large margin. She was much more intimidating now, which made Jazz wary. "You still up for helpin' us?"

The big mech actually looked surprised. "Of course," she said, her voice exactly the same as he remembered. "It's going to be a tight squeeze but I think I can fit you all in with a little room to spare. It just… took a while to adjust to the new mass."

"I can imagine," said Smokescreen, looking her over.

Killjoy looked surprised, but then seemed to remember something. "Small forms are more desirable on land," she told him. "And I never had reason before to reach this size while at sea, but given the circumstances I suppose it would be best if I remain at this size for a while."

"Out of curiosity, can you transform into a femme, too?" asked Bumblebee, earning a few looks from his friend. He shrugged. "Just asking."

"Yes," she said, "but I do not want to." She turned away from them and dove back into the sea, transforming into her orca-form again, but this time she was three times the size of the thing that had crawled up the bay earlier. Her orca-form had blue optics, and they rotated to look at them. A hatch opened up on her back, above her tail. "Climb aboard."

The inside was cramped, like she said, but she had overestimated how much room they'd take up; there was plenty left for three more special ops agents. The room was rounded on all ends, allowing plenty of room the mechanism behind the wall to move freely while she swam and shifted her tail. At the front of the room, where a wide and oddly shaped window looked out to the sea, a small protoform – less than a third the size of Bumblebee and exactly the same size and shape of a human – sat on a rotating chair on the ledge. There was no control panel or any nodes to hook her up to the machine, but it was obvious that the larger shell of a creature responded to her commands.

"Allow me to play some travel music," said the tiny android, whose voice was completely different from her shell's, soft and growly but definitely more feminine. Her words attracted the attention of Jazz. "The organics call this 'We Didn't Start the Fire'. It's by someone whose name is untranslatable into Cybertronian."

"The organics make music?" asked Jazz. He had taken up a position on one side of the ledge, allowing the rest of the Autobots a clear view through the front window.

"Yes," she responded. "Hang on, I'm moving out to the coordinates."

The Autobots, who had never done anything even remotely similar to traveling underwater, unless you counted space travel, watched as an entirely new world began to pass before them. Two rotating lights above the orca's visor lit up the underwater world, but as they neared the reefs she turned them off. The mid-day sunlight transformed the shallow reefs into a colorful field of fish and glowy lights.

"Incredible," said Hound. "What are those things?"

"They are called  **fish** , and they are a type of organic which has adapted to the water."

"Are they all  **fish**?"

"No, the still organic growths are called  **coral**. That organic over there that looks like it's made of gelatin is called an  **octopus**. The entire structure it's on is called a  **reef**."

The conversation continued for much of the entire journey, creating a very relaxed and peaceful atmosphere. Smokescreen shifted from the back and abandoned his seat to take up a position opposite of Jazz, who was bobbing head to each new song that played. Mirage immediately took the free seat, right beside Bumblebee, who immediately started up a conversation with the master spy.

Jazz sent a request ping for a private conversation with the diversionary tactician, which the Praxian obliged. ::Somethin' wrong, Smokey?::

::Not really. I was just thinking, is all..:: Smokescreen paused. ::I think we might have misjudged her.::

::How so?:: Though Jazz pretended otherwise, Smokescreen could tell he had his commander's full and undivided attention.

::Well, she didn't leave us,:: he said. ::And she is taking us straight to those coordinates.::

::Yeah, she is,:: he said. ::But Vibes said-::

::That we should assume all inhabitants are hostile.::

::She labeled it a Class Five Atmospheric Planet, Smokey.::

::With three separate colonies on the surface. She might be from one of them.::

Jazz shrugged, his gaze briefly falling on Killjoy, who seemed pretty happy playing the role of teacher for the inquisitive Hound. Somewhere along the lines, Beachbreak had joined in the discussion, asking questions about what he had seen on the surface while the two of them had been alone. It was a conversation that Mirage and Bumblebee were listening in on, the two of them having grown silent on their bench. Jazz turned his gaze back out the window. ::That's a big if, Smokey.::

::Wouldn't hurt to ask,:: Smokescreen reasoned. When there was a lull in the conversation, he decided to ask. " **Killjoy** , are you a part of a colony on this planet?"

The Terran blinked at the question. The android had an expression on its face that he wasn't familiar with, but her spark fluttered with confusion. "Would not a colony be considered made of a group of mecha from another world settling on the planet sometime in the distant past?"

"Yes," he said.

"Then, no. For as long as I can remember, my mecha have been on this planet since their creation," she shifted in her chair, sparing the window a single glance. The orca remained on course, navigating around rocks and reefs without her direct involvement thanks to the advanced AI program she had implemented before transforming. "Since the time of the Trinity and the Nameless One."

"Is that a story your mecha share?" asked Bumblebee.

"Do you like stories?" asked Killjoy.

"Yeah, we do!" Beachbreak grinned. "Tell us!"

"Well, it'll still take a half a joor to find some place to land, so I guess we have time." She crossed her legs together, showing a bit of her flexibility absentmindedly. "Many stellar cycles ago, before the time of Rhythmus the First, our first and most magnificent of leaders, there was the Trinity and the Nameless One.

"The Trinity was led by Megatronus, the bearer of the Matrix of Peace and wielder of the sword known as the Star Sabre. He was charged with the protection of the precious light that the planet housed and also with the guarding of the treacherous Nameless One, a Prime whose name was marked out from all records because of a great wrong he had committed eons prior."

Smokescreen was surprised, and he could tell from the looks on everyone else's faces that they were surprised too. Megatronus Prime and the Fallen were two separate mecha? No one interrupted, however.

"With Megatronus, there was Amalgamous, the Shapeshifter, who bore the Matrix of Transformation; and Nexus, the Gestalt, who bore the Matrix of Combination. These two were tasked with building the bodies that the light of the world would then inhabit. They managed to successfully create ten Cybertronian life-forms and gift them with knowledge that they could use to start their own civilization here on the planet.

"But one of the ten believed that the knowledge they were given would not be sufficient to start their new lives here. He believed that they had something more important to learn from Megatronus, a gift that only the Guardian of the Planet could give to them. So he sought out Megatronus and asked to become his student. Megatronus, at first, refused him, but the student would not give up. He pleaded with Megatronus, asked him to give him something that the others had not given him – a means to survive. So, Megatronus imparted on him his one and only gift – the very first battle computer, and Megatronus took him in as his first and last apprentice.

"Then, tragedy struck. As the Nameless One remained on the planet's surface, he had absorbed some of light of the planet and added it to his power, allowing him to rise up from his weakened state and attack his guard. Megatronus was gravely wounded, but even this did not deter him from fulfilling his sworn duty. He took his Star Sabre and followed the Nameless One to a rift in the firmament. His apprentice followed him and begged him not to go. But Megatronus went anyway.

"Filled with grief and sorrow at the loss of Megatronus, the apprentice returned to his brothers and sisters, only to discover a much worse fate had befallen them. His twin, a mech whose name is Ruin, had achieved his ultimate goal – the ability to convert any kind of energy into processed energon, putting it straight into the Cybertronian system. But there was flaws – the energy absorption unit did not know when to stop absorbing, and so he continued to gain power until he was fit to burst. The apprentice asked those closes to Ruin to stop him, but when they confronted Ruin, he offered his treasure to them and they became power mad alongside him.

"Realizing his error, the apprentice returned to his fellow Cybertronians and asked them to fetch the Matrix of Combination. Untrained in the ways of combining, the five of them bonded over the Matrix, becoming each in their own way liken to the Trinity. But when they learned of the apprentice's plan, they had a change of spark. When they confront Ruin, they hung back and let the apprentice combat the five Destrons on their own. Realizing their treachery, the apprentice summoned up the training Megatronus had given him and called upon a power within himself to help him in this time of need. The Star Sabre appeared to him – as it appears to all who are worthy to wield it – and granted him the power of the Trinity. His wounds, however, were too great and he died on the battlefield, clutching his sword and remembering the treachery of his brothers."

The dead silence which filled the inside of the orca obviously unnerved the Terran and she quickly busied herself with looking out the window and mentally checking over the instruments and direction the orca was going. Seeing nothing amiss, she looked back at the Autobots.

Smokescreen was the first to stir. "That was… interesting," he said.

"A contradictory account, to be sure," said Mirage huffily, earning a confused look from the Terran.

"I beg your pardon," she said, "but there's nothing contradictory within that story. I know, I've checked all the facts and cross referenced them with every database on the subject."

"I do not mean it like that," Mirage said. "I mean that it contradicts what we know of the Fallen and Megatronus Prime."

"Oh," she said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Does… what do your accounts say of them?"

"That Megatronus Prime and The Fallen are on and the same," said Bumblebee.

"I am confused," she said. "Why is The Fallen called the Fallen in your legends?"

Bumblebee shifted, trying to remember the stories that Optimus Prime and Ironhide had told him. "Well, he committed a great crime and was stripped of his name and title."

"And everyone forgot his name," said Mirage, remembering his own teachings as a noblemech. "It was stripped from all the records."

"Well then," she said, "if his name was stripped from all records and forgotten by everyone, why exactly would any of you even know the name of Megatronus?"

No one answered her. The rest of the swim to the rendezvous point was done in absolute silence.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Autobots meet up with Sub-Commander Vibes...

There was something not right about the island of Taiwan.

The coordinates Vibes had sent were nearby the last known location of the Omnicon settlement, which in hindsight was probably why they where there. The least aggressive Terrans were Omnicons, and only because they no longer had to compete in order to survive - they were the industrialists of the modern Terran, creating new technologies in order to farm energon and mass produce weapons or titanium alloy which served as a substitute for Cybertronian metals.

But that didn't little to ease Killjoy's initial concern when they approached the territory of the Omnicons. Perhaps her feelings had more to do with the awkward silence that had settled over the Autobots or perhaps it had more to do with the unsettling emptiness of the water and the lack of Sharkticons - she was convinced that there should be Sharkticons on the planet, or Seacons, or something else patrolling the waters of Earth but there was literally nothing, almost as if Terrans avoided the water for another reason - but she knew something was seriously wrong.

And if something on the island was wrong, she could not in good conscious leave the Autobots to face it alone. They were the only mecha she met other than Atlas and, because they weren't Terran, she had a bad feeling that they might do something dumb and cause their own downfall. Like they almost did with that diversionary stunt back in the mountains. That was what she intended to avoid by staying with them, but claiming to go with them on the basis of wanting to meet Vibes face-to-face seemed like an excuse rather than a reason. No, a reason would be wanting to investigate the wrongness of the island and to see if the Omnicons were okay.

That was the excuse she was planning to give them when they finally climbed out of her pretender shell and allowed her two halves to merge back into her whole self, towering over the majority of their team. She hadn't liked spliting into her two selves to transport them across the ocean, her old human body turned metal housed her spark and was too small to properly defend itself from them if they randomly decided to attack. Her insides screamed mutiny at the vulnerability, but her battle computer had regained control over the whole situation, which was odd because that meant her battle computer wasn't in the shell but in herself. How could Atlas install the battle computer into her Pretender body if he only had the shell at the time? Was there a secondary battle computer?

She pushed those thoughts aside as she stood on the shores of Taiwan, with the Autobots crowded in front of her, tense and wary of possible attacks.

" **Killjoy** ," said Smokescreen. "I was wanting to give you this."

He handed her a datachip which she glanced over and flipped in her fingers. She wasn't sure her systems were compatible but she was sure she could reverse engineer a way to read it later. "What is it for?"

"It's an updated language pack."

"Oh," she said. "Are you having difficulties understanding what I say?"

"Sometimes, yes."

"I see. Then perhaps the problem might be in reverse, since I cannot accurately translate my language into yours but you can learn the definitions for the words in my language."

"Perhaps," he said, with a smarmy look. "If we are talking a long term relationship."

Killjoy raised an optic ridge at him and monotoned. "If we are talking a long term relationship, we must as talk about your will."

"Ouch," he said with a laugh. "Though seriously, we'd probably need one for a serious alliance between our races."

Killjoy glanced around the area, the feeling of wrongness still unsettling her systems. "Agreed, but only if you survive your first trip to this planet, otherworlder."

Smokescreen frowned. "Otherworlder… you said that before. Is that a derogatory term or what?"

"It's a term," she deadpanned, "that describes non-Terrans."

"So basically 'aliens'."

"Now _that_ would be a derogatory term since we are obviously of the same species."

"I… see. I guess I never thought of it like that before." He shifted on his pedes. "Would it be considered derogatory if we actually were another race?"

"No, because then the use of the word would be accurate until your species name was learned and then it would be derogatory."

Smokescreen tapped his chin thoughtfully. "And what if I called you alien?"

"I might get a little offended."

Jazz was standing at the edge of the forest when he called over. "Smokescreen!"

The blue and red tactician smiled, "Excuse me, miss."

"I prefer 'sir'," she said huffily. "'Miss and ma'am' are for _femmes_ and not she- _mechs_."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said with a chuckle as he turned away.

The moment he was gone, Killjoy made her way over to Beachbreak, who was the only one of the Autobots that she knew from before. The minibot was surprised at her approach but wasn't as uncomfortable with her presence as the yellow bot next to him.

"Hello, Beachbreak." She glanced at the yellow bot. "Bumblebee. Are you…" It was hard to find the right word. "...all right?"

The blue and white minibot nodded. "Yes, I am, thank you. Uhm, how are you?"

Killjoy frowned. "I am all right, but I am more concerned about you. This planet is not kind to otherworlders."

"I don't think this planet is kind to _anyone_ ," Beachbreak said with emphasis.

Killjoy couldn't help the amused twitch of her lip. "Except the sentient organics."

"Yeah, what is up with that?"

Killjoy didn't exactly want to answer that question, and not just because there was no easy answer to it. She crossed her arms. "Perhaps time will help reveal that answer to us both." The black, white and dark grey mech scanned the scenery around them and turned her optics to the sky.

The Insecticons would never come here. There was no metal here, no Cybertronian life beyond the Pretenders, and only sparkeaters lurking in the shadows, hoping to catch a human unawares. Could it be fear of the government and retaliation if they were found out or could it be that the Insecticon commanders simply have no interest in them? Perhaps a combination of all of the above? What use would the Insecticons have in humans? If they were able to reverse engineer EAS fields, would they know how to convert the spark energy that humans emitted into energon? Could EAS fields do that now?

So why don't they try? Airachnid would do it. She was smarter than the average Cybertronian and a scientist to boot. It was only logical to steal rather than try and reinvent the wheel. Unless Airachnid just wasn't acting logical anymore.

"The Omnicons are here somewhere," she said.

"Friendlies?" Autobots were weary of anything ending in 'con'.

"They are the most peaceful inhabitants of this planet," she said. "Innovators of the modern age and the second most advanced subspecies on this planet."

"Will we run into them?"

"Vibes and the others should have already done so. It will be a simple matter of getting to their base of operations. It isn't that far away."

Bumblebee shifted a bit. "What do you mean by 'second most advanced'?"

Killjoy smiled and gestured to her doorwings where the golden Autobot insignias were branded. "We Omnibots are the most advanced subspecies on this planet. We have to be in order to protect it from otherworlder threats and constantly adapting sparkeaters and Insecticons and changing ecosystem."

"Because you're a defender?"

Killjoy straightened and nodded. "Because I am an Omnibot."

Bumblebee obviously didn't find that answer satisfying, but he didn't say anything. Beachbreak decided to rescue the conversation. "Do you share technologies?"

"No. Most of the technologies that Omnibots have aren't even used by us Omnibots. In the last fifty thousand years, our database had increased tremendously with the introduction and rediscovery of older technologies and blue prints for weapons of mass destruction. Using any one of those technologies would not only wipe out the Insecticon population but all the sentient organic population as well, which is against our code of honor. We cannot harm the weak and defenseless."

"How noble," said Beachbreak.

"Indeed," said Bumblebee. "Can we speak with the humans?"

"No. It is against the law to interact with the primitive organics in a direct fashion. None of us can interact with less developed cultures. Omnibots are only allowed to exchange history with Omnicons, and never technologies. Omnicons are not allowed to share technology or history with the humans, or anything else about the existence of our race. Humans are dangerous if they gather together. They become less logical and more prone to violence in groups, and considering the advancements of technology these days we would suffer a great loss on both sides before the any kind of war between us ends - with us as the obvious victor. For their sake, we cannot engage in any kind of direct interaction with them."

The Omnibots had many plans ready to be set in motion for many reasons. One of those plans involved taking the Cybertronian population and leaving the planet when human technology went so far as to surpass their own. They prolonged the inevitable by making sure all the dead that weren't eaten or recycled were smelted down into unrecognizable goo. The technology could not fall into the violent humans' hands and give the governments technology which to found their next NEST team or Sector 7 agency.

"What about indirect?" asked Bumblebee.

"The law allows for indirect communication," she agreed. "Pretenders do it all of the time - at the risk of being discovered, of course. With advancements of human technology, however, the law will probably change accordingly. In fact, it is because of the Pretenders continuing to hide in plain sight that we Omnibots and Omnicons are concerned that the future war between our races will happen far sooner."

And that had been predicted fifty thousand years ago, before the flood which wiped out most of the human race and forced them to restart back at the beginning. That flood had been her predecessor's handiwork, the fifth generation of Omnibots after Rhythmus the First. The names Hurricane, Typhoon, Monsoon and Cyclone gave it away. Strange how the fifth Omnibot was called Rhythm, named after Rhythmus the First. Boy, ancestry was fun.

Killjoy pushed that thought aside as Jazz issued the order for the Autobots to move up. Killjoy followed up the rear, her larger size making it harder for her to disappear into her surroundings. Hound moved in front of her so that his scanners could keep tabs on her, but occasionally one of minibots would glance back to spot her amongst the leaves.

Something pinged on her sensors, another spark standing stationary in a clearing not far away. After mapping out the Autobot's general travel direction, she ducked away and left them behind on her way to investigate the spark. A strangely shaped and odd-colored aspen tree stood out like a sore thumb from the collection of red and yellow falsecypress, the bare bark of the aspen contrasting with the fluffy and branchy falsecypress trees. Branch shaped arms that were a distinct light grey rather than stark white and bony fingers were wrapped around a very visible datapad. The leaves sprouting from her shoulders were an out of season and odd-colored blue-green, which would have made her stand out amongst regular Terran trees. This was obviously an Autobot.

"Hey, you!" Killjoy called over, startling the femme who half twisted around on her trunk to look at her. "You a friend or foe?"

"A Terran?" she asked, shocked and surprised and looking like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Her optics darted around and she remained froze in place for a long moment. "What do you want? Have the others woken up, too?"

 _Wake up?_ Killjoy wondered, thinking she was talking about the Omnibots. "No, I come from overseas."

"Then… you must have picked up Vibes' transmission?" Botanica asked, suddenly even more wary.

"Yes, I did, and I brought company. Where are your fellow Autobots?"

"Why should I tell you that?"

Killjoy frowned. "Why should anyone tell anyone anything?" she asked, her voice soothing. She stalked around the edge of the clearing, watching the Cybertronian grow increasingly more antsy the more Killjoy moved. "What manner of creature can know a friend without first extending his hand in good faith? What manner of monster can conquer paranoia without first giving the benefit of the doubt? How can you identify the untrustworthy without first giving some trust?"

"You're babbling," she said, as if coming to some dawning conclusion. A sick looking color entered her optics and she clutched the datapad tighter to herself in anticipation of… something. "I knew this would happen one day."

"Knew what would happen one day?" Killjoy asked. "That a random stranger would ask you four very good philosophical questions about the meaning of paranoia?" She snorted. "You've been on this planet for fifty stellar cycles and yet you turn your back on the wilderness and expect it to leave you alone? That is the biggest sign of stupidity I have ever seen, Autobot."

Botanica frowned at that response. "Fifty stellar cycles? Wait… aren't you going to eat me?"

"Why would I talk with my prey?" came Killjoy's baffled response. "Why would I eat prey that talks back?"

The botanist relaxed. "Thank Primus! I thought for sure I was done for!" She paused, and smiled sheepishly at Killjoy. "I'm sorry that we got off on the wrong pede there. My name is Botanica. What's yours?"

" **Killjoy**."

"You mean like Spoilsport?"

Killjoy did a double take. "You understand **English**?"

"Of course! The **Internet** is very primitive but useful and spectacular in its own way. We learn what we can from it as it develops, and boy does it develop! It is most interesting seeing the effect of these organic sentients of their own technologies." She paused, recognizing the look of startled horror on Killjoy's face. "Oh, we do not engage in direct relationships with the sentient organics! No, no! Evac was very clear on us not doing that."

The Terran relaxed a fraction. "That's good. Has this… Evac been keeping tabs on the **humans**?"

"I do not know. Much of what the Omnicons did while here were not shared with us. He went up North to investigate what happened to the Pretenders," said Botanica. "I believe Crosswise went with him, too. They were the only two who seemed unaffected by the… uh, ' **spell** **'**."

Killjoy frowned. "How long ago was this?"

"A few stellar cycles back, I believe. You'd have to ask Vibes or Strongarm for the specifics."

The orcaformer nodded. "I will most certainly do that. What about this **'spell** **'** that you mentioned?"

" _Botanica!_ "

Killjoy had sensed the Autobots approaching early, but when she turned around she discovered that there were easily twice as many Autobots as before and every single one of the new group were pointing their weapons at her. Weapons that weren't just simple plasma or other energy weapons, but pistols and other weapons that shot actual Cybertronian-sized bullets. Killjoy could have been mistaken for a shocked statue, she was standing so still. Behind the new party, Jazz was tense, with his vibroblade out but the rest of the landing party hung back as the newer female Autobots stepped forward.

"Are you all right, Botanica?" Vibes asked her, her optics not leaving Killjoy's.

"It is all right, Vibes," said the botanist. "I was just having this enlightening conversation with **Killjoy** here. She is not hostile, Vibes. Please put the weapons away."

"You look much different from the records, Botanica," said Killjoy, her body relaxing even though the weapons were still aimed at her. "Didn't you have a yellow and purple coloration?"

"Yes, but I opted for this coloration when they told me I couldn't leave the base without a Terran alternate mode." Botanica paused. "Did I do a good job?"

"Yes and no. You have the basics down, but the coloration is off and the moving arms are a dead giveaway that you are not an **aspen** **tree**."

"Oh," she said.

"Vibes," said Jazz softly. "We should continue this elsewhere."

Killjoy immediately turned back to the other Autobots, all of whom had lowered their weapons. "I agree," she said. "I want to know exactly what Botanica meant by **spell** when she spoke of the Omnicons."

"You'll have to see that for yourself," said Vibes. "We aren't exactly sure what to call it or even what it is. There's no equivalent in our terms, at least." She glanced back at Jazz. "If you are willing to come peacefully, Terran, we will let you inside our joint-base."

Killjoy saluted. "On my honor as an Omnibot, I will not engage in warfare while in your base, Vibes."

Vibes blinked. "You're from the Omnibots? I don't believe we've ever encountered an embassy from them before."

"Yes, and it seem I came too late to catch Evac before he left. In any case, I wish to investigate the matter of the **spell** and see if I cannot help my brethren, and perhaps answer a few other questions as well, before I leave to seek him out."

The red Sub-Commander nodded. "Follow us then! Autobots, move out! That goes for you too, Botanica!"

Immediately Vibes and Jazz fell into step beside each other as the rest of the Autobots followed them out. Beachbreak fell into step beside Killjoy as Botanica unhappily followed at the rear, though the noble treeformer did not complain. The blue and white minibot looked up at Killjoy as they walked.

"You're a part of an embassy?" he asked.

"No and yes," came her response. "I do not serve the purpose of an embassy, but it is custom for the Omnicons to treat any visit from one Omnibot as such. The Omnibots are small in number and they are war heroes, every last one. It is an honor to be paid a visit from one of them, regardless of the circumstances."

"I see?" he said.

Killjoy paused. "Beachbreak, when I first met you, you said that I was wrong in assuming the Autobots held a profound belief in autonomy. Why do you think that?"

"Well, uh," said Beachbreak, who knew better than anyone how well the Special Ops team listened to these kind of conversations. "We have those ideals but… it's difficult to change from what we are used to, I guess."

"Change is a fundamental part of surviving on this planet," said Killjoy slowly. "Perhaps you Autobots can learn from your visit here."

"Perhaps," said Beachbreak, though it was obvious he didn't believe it for a moment.

 _It took a very long time for Cybertronians to change and when they wanted instant change, it usually ended in generation long wars like this one._ Killjoy frowned at that thought and wondered at it before carefully putting it aside. She wasn't exactly where it had come from, and even though it was profound. Too profound for Hivemaster, but she couldn't think of anyone else who might have planted that message in her head.

"Botanica?" Killjoy turned to the scientist. "What are the known signs of this **spell**?"

"I believe the **human** phenomenon is called **daydreaming**. It's all the Omnibots seem capable of doing. They are, for a lack of better terms, lost in their own thoughts."

"Why is this a concern?"

"It seems as if they can't bring themselves out of it."

"Have they damaged anything or anyone while in this state?"

"Actually no. It isn't harmful to us or even to themselves. It is actually very beneficial, in a certain way."

"Explain."

"The Omnicons are developing technologies at an even faster rate than the humans. They invent the new technologies and leave them around the place, and we pick them up."

Killjoy halted and turned to look directly at Botanica, causing half the group to tense up and halt beside her. "You are stealing our technologies?"

"No! We just find them lying around and put them in a safer spot so they don't accidentally get triggered." She paused. "Recently, though, they've been working on… something else."

Killjoy paused, wondering for a moment whether she should press what she meant by 'stealing' or if she should pursue the new line of conversation. "Go on."

"They won't tell us anything. Perhaps with your more advanced understanding of technology, we can finally get to the bottom of what they are doing."

Killjoy nodded. "Yes, and I will of course be getting to the bottom of where exactly all their technology has ended up and cross referencing your technology with theirs to make sure you haven't stolen anything."

Botanica nodded quickly. "I will inform Vibes."

"You do that," Killjoy said, a hint of aggression in her tone. The suddenly tense atmosphere was only broken when Killjoy slowly turned around and began walking again.

"So…?" Beachbreak began. " **Killjoy** , what do you think of the Autobots."

Killjoy frowned at that answer. What did she think of the Autobots? She was a fan of them ever since she was seven and started writing fanfiction and drawing art for the series when she old enough to read. Optimus Prime had been her role model until she hit her teenage years and then she switched from Bluestreak to Sunstreaker and finally to Prowl as her favorite characters. But when she realized other transformer series existed, her love of all the characters actually grew less, especially with the introduction of IDW's More Than Meets The Eye, until she finally almost abandoned the fandom entirely.

Sure, she had still bought the merchandise, but she idealized Generation One as the best interpretation of all the characters. Now that she was here, standing next to an Autobot who had died over a waterfall in Alan Dean Foster's Movie prequel, she wasn't sure she should expect them to be anything like she had expected. She loved Prowl, but this Prowl, and everyone else, would probably end up being so radically different from the Prowl and mecha she knew that she would have no choice but to treat them as entirely different mecha. Oh, to see Prowl, to hear Prowl, but to not be able to talk with _her_ Prowl. G1 Prowl. If she was lucky, it would be Fandom Prowl, which was completely different from his presentation in the IDW series. She prayed it wasn't Animated Prowl. Not that she had anything against that Prowl, but he wasn't _her_ Prowl.

So, what did she think of the Autobots? She thought they actually stood for something noble, but obviously IDW ruined that theory with a passion. They were just average joes in her mind now, and that made them… a disappointment, rather than something worth idolizing.

"I do not have enough information to judge the Autobots," she said carefully. "But you remind me a lot of the Omnicons." She didn't want to explain further and instead shifted her attention to Jazz and Vibes, a sure sign that the conversation was over.

The Autobots had reached a massive and familiar cliff face, but wherever Killjoy looked, she could not see the telltale crack which she had - in the simulation - stashed Reverb's body. Then again, that cliff-face was in China, not Taiwan. Vibes tugged on the wall and suddenly the massive cliff-face split down the center, revealing a tunnel slanting downwards into the mountain.

"Welcome to Outpost 61," Vibes said, before transforming into a sleek red pontiac solstice and roaring down the slope, Jazz right on her heels with his hovercraft form. The rest of the Autobots quickly followed, leaving Botanica and Killjoy far behind.

Then the door shut behind them, blocking out all light, energy and sound. The total and sudden isolation from every thing she could sense, as if she had just fallen off the edge of the world or been shoved into subspace, caused Killjoy to whip around in a panic and slam her arms into the door. She caught herself before she could rip the door apart, instead just bracing herself against the door as every sensor on her grid reported back that there was nothing beyond. Nothing outside but utter darkness. It was like something cold and empty had suddenly appeared in her mind and she was unable to breathe without it, like a human lost in space.

A gentle servo on her shoulder dragged her attention to Botanica.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "The Se- _**Fireflies**_ always had issues staying underground for too long… before the **spell** that is."

"We aren't underground, Botanica," Killjoy gritted out.

"Well, yes, if you want to be technical, we are in another dimension. I believe Atlas calls it the ' _Shadow Zone'_."

Killjoy stared at her with abject horror, her optics almost as white as a sparkeater's. When Botanica pressed a hand against her shoulder, Killjoy shuddered deeply. Her arms were still brace up against the wall and they began to shake slightly. Her deep bass voice cracked under the emotional strain.

"…leave me. **Please.** "

* * *

Jazz couldn't remember a time when he felt so much joy during the war. He hadn't thought he'd see his bonded after so many stellar cycles and he was more than a little excited at the prospect of being able to feel her close to him again. But duty was duty, and he knew he had to report back to Prime before he could indulge himself in romance. Understanding that, Vibes took him to the nearest Meeting Room and locked the door. Jazz plopped himself into a chair and immediately began routing an extra QCN link through the nearest available communication console.

"Jazz, what are you doing on this planet?" asked Vibes. "Serving on _Optimus Prime's_ flagship, of all places!"

The saboteur smiled. "Ah got a promotion while ya were away."

"How big of a promotion? Last I checked you were still a rookie. A slagging good special ops bot, but not really officer material."

"A lot's happened since you and the femmes left," said Jazz ominously, pausing in rigging the comm lines to wrap an arm around Vibes' wrist and pull her down for a peck on the cheekplate. "Ah'm glad yer alive."

Vibes shifted in embarrassment at the electric shock from his lips on her cheek and stood up shakily when he let go. "Jazz, you don't know how much I've missed you."

"Ah can imagine. This planet's a house of horrors from what Beachbreak tells me and that Terran doesn't seem all there half the time."

Vibes chuckled. "She's actually pretty tame for a loner, but that's what concerns me."

"Oh?" asked Jazz.

"She wears the symbol of the Omnibots, Jazz. Unlike most loners, who are either savage or worse, the Omnibots are team of warriors. As far as I've come to understand it, they are the _rulers_ of the planet."

"Like the Senate?" asked Jazz.

"The government here isn't nearly that complicated," said Vibes. "Sometimes I wish it was more complicated than it is. But the thing that concerns me is when I first arrived on this planet, the world was just recovering from an attack _by_ the Omnibots. The Omnibots built and activated a weapon that turned the worlds weather on its head and created a massive flood. The human's oldest historical record titled it The Flood. If not for Rhythm's interference, the entire planet would have been destroyed."

Jazz shifted in his chair. "Does this need to be put in a report to the Prime?"

Vibes sighed. "Yeah, definitely."

"M'kay. You got the report?"

"I have been writing a very long report for fifty stellar cycles," said Vibes. "I've been finalizing it every since I contacted _Optimus_ frigging _Prime_."

"Don' say tha' to his faceplate, babe," Jazz chuckled. "Won't do fo' Prime's own Third-In-Command's bonded to call him the great 'Optimus frigging Prime _'_ in a meetin'."

Vibes chuckled then choked on her faux pas. "Jazz! You could have told me your were _Third-In-Command_! I would have-"

"Ah don't want to be treated like an offica by my own bonded!" Jazz interrupted. "Besides, Ah'm still special ops. Secrecy is my policy."

Vibes chuckled. "You're in for a run for your chips, Jazz, because no bot on this planet does secrets like the Omnibots."

Jazz raised an optic ridge at that. "Good thing Ah'm the best at finding secrets, too."

"I'm glad you think so, babe," she rumbled in amusement and relief. "You haven't changed."

Jazz grinned from audio to audio. "It's like yah were never gone, sweetspark."

"That's a relief. I was worried I was turning into our old friend." She paused. "What happened to Prowl anyway?"

"Ya can ask him yerself when he's not busy," Jazz promised. "Now, hush, Ah'm reportin' in."

The small communication pad in the center of the room flickered on, projecting the holographic visage of Blaster above itself. The communications officer recognized them instantly and immediately waved a friendly hand at them both.

" _Hey, Jazz,_ " the orange mech said.

"Patch me to tha Prime," said Jazz, with a glance at Vibes. "We've got a lot to talk about."

" _Yooou got it!_ "

The face of the blue and red Autobot leader appeared on screen. He was sitting in a short-backed chair in a dark lit room which could only be his personal quarters, since he was nowhere near a desk. Prime's battlemask was off, exposing the long thin scar that ran up from his chin, up the corner of his mouth and partway across his nose. His gentle blue eyes lit up immediately and a beaming smile fought the old wound to dominate his faceplate as he looked at his two officers.

" _Jazz, Vibes, good orn. How are the females?_ "

"They are all doing well, Optimus Prime, sir," said Vibes.

" _Optimus is fine, old friend_ ," said the Prime. " _Prowl and I both expect a full report in our datapads next time you both call._ "

"Yes… Optimus."

The bigger mech nodded. " _Jazz, your report?_ "

"We made it here in record time, Prime, with the help of our confusing ally, whose name isn't translatable in Cybertronian."

"Actually," began Vibes, nodded her head respectfully towards the Prime, "the translation is 'Spoilsport' but considering the uniqueness of the origin of her name in their native tongue, I'm not surprised that she doesn't want to be called that."

Jazz shrugged. "In any case, we made it to Outpost 61, their current base of operations. We haven't had much time to catch up yet, but Vibes has some concerns about our ally."

Vibes nodded. "It concerns whether or not we should consider long term relationships with the three colonists of this planet, one of which is an ex-Decepticon settlement stationed a little northeast of here, in the Wilderness Zone, so we have no way of keeping tabs on it. The other two are the Omnibots settlement which could be anywhere and the Omnicons who made our little base here. The latter are much like us on terms of technology and advancement but have been malfunction for an unknown reason for the last fifty stellar cycles."

" _Is it a virus?_ " asked Prime, immediately concerned.

"No, it isn't. Botanica was very disappointed that it wasn't. Optimus, we made friends with the Omnicons before the illness took over. I have details of our relationship written in the report that I intend to send you."

Optimus nodded. " _Continue._ "

"The Omnibots are the rulers of this planet when it comes to technological advancements. They do not do technological trade with anyone who is not as technologically advanced as they are, but they have traded historical records in the past for some things to be manufactured by the Omnicons. Apparently, the Omnicons are very good at manufacturing energon-metal hybrid weapons before they began malfunctioning. Beyond Jazz's new ally, I haven't ever met or seen an Omnibot in person, but I heard a lot about them from the Omnicons. Optimus Prime, sir, I believe that any diplomatic approaches to this planet should be done when this planet's inhabitants are less volatile and more stable - and when the Omnicons are fully functioning. Details of everything will be in my report, sir."

The Prime nodded. " _Thank you, Sub-Commander Vibes. I will be looking forward to that report. Jazz?_ "

The saboteur leaned forward with a raised optic-ridge.

" _Make sure to have some time off for your bonded, and that's an order. I will see you both later, and I will make sure Prowl is included._ "

Jazz chuckled. "Yessir!"

" _Good. Optimus out._ "

The moment the holovid flickered out, Jazz reached over to Vibes and pulled the femme into his lap for a real hug. Vibes wrapped her thin arms around Jazz's helm, and they both kissed. Sparks jumped between their lips as their sparks greeted each other after many years of divide.

Vibes pulled away first, smiling brilliantly at Jazz. "So…"

Jazz raised an optic ridge at her. "So…?"

"Just exactly _how high ranking_ is Prowl?"

Jazz bit his bottom lip as he pretended to think it over. "Oooh, he's the TacHead."

"TacHead on Optimus Prime's ship?" Vibes asked. "The base's 'sparkless prick'?"

"Heey, he's not entirely sparkless," said Jazz. "He does have a spark, otherwise he wouldn't have offered to bond."

Then realizing what had just come out of his mouth, Jazz stopped.

"Jazz," said Vibes seriously.

The Head of Special Ops grinned sheepishly as he was pinned to his seat with a look from his bonded. He suddenly understood what it was like to be glared at by someone wearing a visor.


	9. Chapter 9

Killjoy was still beside the front entrance when Strongarm was sent to fetch her for the meeting. The black, white and dark grey mech was seated with her back to the door, her doorwings pressed up against the wall to stiffle the shivers that threatened to encompass her frame. Her optics had turned a pale brown color, distant and blank, as she withdrew within herself to try and shut up the sensors that told her there was nothing beyond the walls but darkness. She could sense the Autobot's landing team beyond the walls, a few sparks hovering in nothingness, but the rest of the base might as well have been filled with ghosts. She didn't detect Strongarm's approach until the other she-mech had practically walked on her pedes. Killjoy straightened up instantly and looked over the praxian-style frame with suspicion, her legs drawing closer and her lips twisting in a defensive snarl. Her optics were still pale, mimicking the intense stare of a sparkeater.

"Wake up, Omnibot!" the security officer barked, unaffected. "Vibes and Jazz need you in the meeting room for the debriefing, stat."

"Debriefing?" Killjoy could not remember being asked to attend any debriefing.

"Yes, the debriefing. The one with Optimus Prime and the others up in space. Unless you're just going to sit there for the rest of the vorn and twiddle your thumbs, you should get up."

"I do not have anything prepared for the meeting," she said to herself, realizing belatedly that she had said it out loud. Not wanting to show another sign of 'weakness', she immediately yanked herself out of her own mind and rose to her pedes.

"You don't _need_ to prepare anything," Strongarm said. "You aren't one of our officers. They are just going to ask you some questions that need answering."

Killjoy nodded, relieved. "Right. Of course."

"I'm to escort you there and play bodyguard," she said. "So no funny business."

The trip up the meeting room was done in silence, with Killjoy memorizing the whole route along the way. She wanted to take the fasted way back to the base's front door when all was said in done. This much distance between her and it made her paranoia scream that all of this was a trap, designed by The Hivemaster, to get her out of the picture for his inane and unknown schemes.

Strongarm followed Killjoy through the doors before taking up a position inside the room nearby Vibes, listening but also keeping an optic on their new friend The Wild Card. Killjoy took the only available seat next to Jazz, who had taken a position between her and Vibes. Long cords hung from Jazz's audio horn, connecting to a holographic projection machine in the middle of the room which was already on. The stalwart figure of Optimus Prime sat calmly on the otherside, giving her a nod in greeting as she sat down and struggled to gather her thoughts.

"Thank you for joining us, sir," he said, earning an acknowledging nod from Killjoy. "We would have comenced with this meeting earlier, if we had not underestimated the extensiveness of Vibes' report of your current state of affairs. I am sorry for what has happened to your mecha, **KIiilljOy**."

Killjoy struggled to process the apology. "Thank you… sir. I am not used to receiving condolences from strangers. Apologies, but I did not catch your name."

"Of course. My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. This is my command staff" - much to Killjoy's surprise, the image of Optimus Prime switched to the other mechs of the Command Staff - "Our Head of Security, Ironhide; My Second in Command, Prowl; The Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet; Chief of Communications, Blaster; and our Head of the Science Division, Perceptor."

Killjoy nodded to each of them, ignoring the voice at the back of her head that told her she probably looked to them like some deranged bobble-head. "I apologies, but I was under the impression that your command staff would be smaller. If I may ask, how many mecha do you command?"

"Around three hundred," said Optimus Prime.

" _Only_ three hundred?" she echoed. "Lord Ironbrand could command a thousand mecha at his disposal and train each of them individually to become the best fighters this world had ever seen. I am going to hazard a guess and say that none of you were designed for war."

"You would be correct," said Prowl, the camera focusing on him. "Are we to assume that you _are_ designed for war?"

"Indeed. My processor is an advanced five variable battle computer, designed to incorporate into the main cortex and work hand-in-hand with regular processing abilities. It allows me to analyze the enemy on an individual level, from psychological analysis to detailed physical analysis of the enemy's biomechanical components or the tells of their past training in certain martial arts. I have mostly used it for close quarters combat and guerrilla warfare due to its strengths in those regards."

"You are a tactician?"

"I am an amatuer when compared to some of our greats, but my understanding of tactics is enough to serve as their analyst and bodyguard. I would never be outright called a tactician unless all other true tacticians were dead on the battlefield." Killjoy paused. "But I highly doubt that is what I was brought here for. Optimus Prime, what exactly would you like to know about this planet that Vibes hasn't already told you? If the request you make is for technology, I am afraid that I cannot help you. We have a strict policy on not trading any of our weapons of war with anyone, no matter how advanced their technology is compared to ours. This planet is - excuse my **Queen's English** \- slagged to the pit already and does not need anyone's help to make matters worse."

Optimus Prime straightened, attracting the camera's attention. "We are interested in your history, actually. You are allowed to share that with us, correct?"

Killjoy nodded. "I have shared an older story with your friends already."

"I do not recall Vibes saying…?"

Jazz leaned forward. "It's in mah report, Prime."

"Ah." Optimus' optics momentarily paled before they refocused. "The story of Megatronus Prime and the Fallen?"

"It was more of a story about the founding of our civilization and Megatronus Prime's successor, Rhythmus the First, than them," Killjoy amended, "but yes."

"Does your historical data have anything specific on them?"

"If Vibes was not able to find anything in the documents available in the Omnicon's local library before the **spell** affected them, then I guess the only specific information about them that can be found would be at the Citadel."

"Could we visit there?"

"Sir, the only ones allowed to visit there are the Omnibot gestalt team themselves. The Citadel is closed to everyone else."

"Are you a part of this team?"

"No, sir," said Killjoy. It was partial lie; she was designed to be a part of a gestalt team but the fact that the rest of the team was dead meant she couldn't be considered a part of any gestalt team. She was a loner now. "The gestalt team were murdered fifty stellar cycles ago. It will be a long while before a new gestalt team can be found to replace them and there is no guarantee that the Citadel will open for them if this replacement team can be found."

Optimus Prime obviously didn't like that news, but the holographic screen switched over to Prowl before anything else between them could be said. "Could you explain to us what exactly this 'gestalt' is?"

"Of course. Gestalts in general are forged when five siblings or best friends somehow get in contact with the Matrix of Combination. We are not sure exactly how this happens or where exactly they go to find the Matrix of Combination, but it has happened enough times for us to not dismiss the idea that it can be found outside of the Citadel. Renown gestalts are the Terrorcons, Predacons, Aerialbots, Protectobots and Technobots."

The red and black bot that was Ironhide suddenly appeared onscreen. "The Terrorcons were Decepticons, right?"

"I cannot confirm nor deny that," Killjoy said. "It is highly likely, and there is a small percentage chance that the Predacons are also ex-Decepticons." She paused, waiting a few kliks for another interruption. "Gestalts operate on a resonating bond, with few actually establishing synchronized bondings. The Omnibots were one of those few. It was said that they knew each other inside out so thoroughly that they did not even need to speak over a bond in order for them to coordinate an attack on their enemies."

"Resonating bond?" asked Ratchet.

"A bond between best friends or a trio of mechs with specific programming." Killjoy paused. "I believe you call them 'trines'?"

"And 'triads'," confirmed Prowl.

"Right. The Omnibots were also equiped with the latest of technologies, though the source of their longevity and supposed rebirth had caused much in the way of controversy over the last few centuries. Anyway, every gestalt team can merge to create one bot, the 'gestalt'. The Technobots become Computron, the Terrorcons become Abominus, the Predacons become Predaking, et cetera. The Omnibots had the coding and had the designs for it, but never needed to achieve that 'ultimate form', per se."

Ironhide appeared again. "Then why are you called an Omnibot if you ain't a part of this team?"

That was… an awkward question and a good one. "I have the potential and programming to be a part of the next Omnibot gestalt team. A sort of successor to them. But, in order for me to become a part of the longest surviving gestalt on this planet, I would require four others to resonate with and the Matrix of Combination to chose us above all others to inherent that position as rulers of the world."

Jazz shifted beside her. "Are ya interested in rulin' the planet?"

"There's a popular song that addresses that for me," said Killjoy. "Everyone wants to rule the world, Jazz, and I admit that I think I could succeed where past rulers have failed. However, that decision is out of my servos."

"Ah thought ya said ya owned the seas?"

Killjoy's lips twitched. "The seas are my _territory_ , Jazz. Claiming something as one's territory is much like how a mech has a deed for the land he owns, but when someone says 'I own this place' they are saying that they fought and bled to protect that territory from loners, leeches, Insecticons and sparkeaters. It is the niche of the ecosystem that they call home and that they defend at all costs."

"Then how exactly is rulin' the world out of yer servos?"

"That is because the rulers of this world must be chosen by Primus, and the only way for Primus to chose them is for the Matrix of Combination to make their leader into a Prime." Killjoy took a moment to vent. Why did Jazz aggrivate her so much? Was it because he wasn't acting like what she expected from him or was it simply because it was obvious that he didn't like her? Or perhaps it was his disbelief in Primus showing though that annoyed her, but she never got this annoyed when someone started asking her about God. Either way, she was tired of this conversation already. She turned her attention back to the holographic screen. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask, sirs?"

Prowl shifted - it was obvious because the camera refocused on his image for a second - before Ironhide spoke up. "If yer leaders are Primes, why are you not addressing Optimus as 'Prime'?"

"The answer is actually in the story I told Jazz and the other Autobots," she said. "The roles of the Primes on this planet are to defend this world from foreign or domestic threats. This design is modeled after Megatronus' and Rhythmus' respective roles and positions. However, we do not see Primes as being above us or beneath us in any amount of disrespect or respect. We are all equals, regardless of who answer to the calling Primus sends us. That doesn't mean we won't listen to them if they ask us to do something for the sake of saving the planet… so I've been taught."

"But yer Prime rules the planet?"

"No, the _Omnibots_ rule the planet. No one mecha can rule the world; the organics have taught us that much. The Prime either serves a figurehead or adviser to the other four."

"Sounds like the Senate to me," grumbled Ironhide.

Wanting to argue that point but realizing that she had no footing to stand on and just outright saying Ironhide was wrong would prompt them to ask too many questions about how she could possibly know about the Senate, she instead glanced down to the table and searched the other Omnibots memories for more information. "It is interesting to note that only one Omnibot has ever called himself a Prime and not been a bearer of the Matrix of Combination. Even now, we are unsure whether his claim was legitimate or not, since he was banished due to his involvement in the creation and use of the Cybernet as a means to control the planet on an individual scale. It was only after Hexus the First that we stopped referring to the Omnibots as Primes and just called them by the name they were created with." Killjoy shrugged. "It hardly matters these days because of the government that the Omnicons have created for themselves and the distance we two civilizations have put between ourselves."

" **Killjoy** ," said Vibes, "how often have the Omnibots become a gestalt team?"

Killjoy looked at Vibes in a new light. Vibes had to have been told most of this beforehand for her to understand that not all Omnibots become a gestalt team, to put it that way. "There have been only five recorded instances of a complete Omnibot gestalt team. In most cases, the individual Omnibot refuses or never realizes that they are a part of the gestalt team."

"How likely is it that you could become a part of an Omnibot gestalt team?"

"Before today," said Killjoy, "as a loner and a shifter, I would calculate the likely hood to be less than ten percent."

"And with us?"

"I am twice as likely, I suppose," she said with a shrug. "If there are actually four other Omnibots out there that realize who they are and are free of the Hivemaster's control. And, of course, if I survive long enough to meet them."

Vibes nodded, suddenly uncomfortable.

"It's always doom and gloom with ya, ain't it?" asked Jazz.

Killjoy gave him a flat look. "The livespan of a Terran on average is one vorn, and if they pass the one vorn mark there is only a fifty-seven percent chance they will reach one stellar cycle of age. I am the only Terran that I know of who has reached fifty stellar cycles and above."

The dead silence that followed was unnerving, and so silent that Killjoy could hear a pin drop in the room next door… except this was a sound proof room so any pin dropping would have to have come from the holographic projector. When her gaze fell on the communication channel, she noted a variety of shocked expressions looking back at her.

" **Killjoy** ," said Prowl, the only one who seemed to have regained a grasp on his vocoder, "what would be the likely hood of our survival if we were to take up temporary residence on your planet?"

"Temporary residence?" Killjoy echoed. "How long exactly would be a 'temporary residence'?"

"Approximately one stellar cycle."

Killjoy shook her helm. "With three hundred mechs, no base, limited resources, and one stellar cycle - assuming that you consume on average the same amount that we do everyday and that you would be required to stay in space, and remembering that you have no prior experience or training for this world - I would calculate your survival to be thirteen-point-seven percent. Your survival would significantly increase if you were to limit your stay to less than one vorn."

Prowl looked somewhere to his right. Optimus leaned forward. "What if we had a base?"

"Depending on the security preparations, layout and overall construction and location of the base, which for arguments sake will be as good as the set up that the Omnicons have… even giving it a fixed depreciation value of twenty percent that decreases at a rate of point-two percent… it would be around a thirty-seven-point-six survival rate for one stellar cycle."

"How could we significantly increase our chances of survival?"

This conversation was making Killjoy more and more uncomfortable. "Having a guide or teacher would automatically take away the fixed depreciation value, plus improve chances of all surviving significantly… fifty-four percent exactly." Feeling she had just volunteered for something, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Sir, you aren't planning on staying here… are you?"

"We have considered the position your planet is currently in," he said, "and we would like to help."

"Sir," said Killjoy stiffly, realizing she couldn't exactly refuse help without considering the consequences more thoroughly. Gut reaction takes a backseat to planetary security. "Putting your war on hold like this is a not going to help you win victory over the Decepticons."

Ironhide took offense. "We'll worry about that! We know the Decepticons a lot better than ya."

"But you don't know war like we do. I have seen thousands of battles, hundreds of wars, and billions die in my short life of fifty stellar cycles. War cannot be won by avoiding the enemy - that is the fastest way to lose." Killjoy leaned back with a sigh. "But I understand it's not my place to dissuade you if you decide to stay. As a defender of this planet, it would be my duty and honor to ensure your safety during your stay and I would gladly supply you with technology and training you will need in order to survive the experience."

"Thank you," said Optimus Prime.

_You are_ not _welcome_ , she thought. _You have no idea how many laws I'm about to break by helping you, just to make sure you survive. Plus, I would be wasting time I could be using to track down and kill the Hivemaster_. But it seemed it was requirement for Earth to be the setting for an Autobot and Decepicon battle no matter what anyone said or did, just like something just as bad or worse than the Holocaust would always happen even if someone did manage to go back and kill Hitler. _Even if you could be a valuable asset to this planet and a help against the Insecticon threat, you will still be liability to me for as long as you remain here._ It hurt just to think that of Optimus Prime, and she couldn't bring herself to say it, much to her chagrin.

"Optimus Prime," said Vibes, pausing, "uh, Optimus, are you sure this is wise?"

_I'm positive it isn't. These Autobots have no sense of self-preservation!_

Optimus Prime nodded. "I will fill you in when you're back on board the Ark."

"If you are going this route, there will need to be preparations done before I find you a piece of land to build on," said Killjoy. "I will need some time to prepare everything on my list, but in the meantime I would be interested to hear what you might think you need in terms of knowledge."

Perceptor appeared on screen. "How extensive is your species' scientific understanding of this atmospheric planet?"

"Extensive."

"…quite. How much would you be willing to part with?"

"I will send you everything that the Omnicons have currently available and a few Omnibot databases that you can cross reference," she responded. "I can't give specifics since I am no expert in the field."

The blue and red mech nodded. Ratchet's white helm and grey chevron appeared.

"Don't tell me, you aren't an expert on medical technology either," he said grouchily.

"Actually, I have extensive medical training." Killjoy responded. "The Omnicons have only a primitive understanding of medical skills, so I will mostly be supplying with what I know."

Vibes perked up. "Wouldn't that be against your law?"

"To increase your survival percentage and my own," said Killjoy smoothly, "a thorough understanding of medical knowledge is a must."

Vibes tilted her head. Killjoy returned her attention to Ratchet, missing Vibes' smile.

"Most of the medical knowledge is centered around a shifter's colorful physiology and our understanding of sparks and cerebral coding. Since we do not need to have our parts constantly repaired or replaced, medical grade is suppliment with the closest we have to Cybertronian alloy, which self-repair nanobots can use to repair it's systems. I will send you detailed analysis and ingredients needed depending on the bot, in case you ever have to… tend to another Terran. Which I expect to be very rare."

"Indeed," said Ratchet knowingly.

Killjoy's doorwings stiffened in affront at the silent expectation. Ratchet wouldn't be seeing this Terran anywhere near his medbay, no sir. "Does anyone else have anything they'd wish to add to the list?"

"I have a subordinate who'd throw a hissy-fit if he found out I didn't ask for somethin'," Ironhide drawled. "What ya got?"

"I will be sending detailed blueprints of the security equipment alongside the basic requirements of the designs of the base. If your subordinate sees anything missing from that packet, let me know and I'll see about finding something that could work for her."

Ironhide's lip components twitched. "He'll appreciate it."

Killjoy chuckled, and Strongarm made a noise behind her. Prowl leaned forward, but Killjoy beat him to it.

"You want a rundown of tactical data for this planet, if I'm not mistaken?" She earned a nod. "I will be sending you all the information I use in day-by-day tactical analysis, plus old records for past battles and anything else I can find in the Omnicon library. Perhaps even a translation of one of the organic's more popular tactical books. Other than that, is there anything specific you want?"

"I will ask when I have received your packet, like the rest," he said.

Optimus Prime nodded. "Is that everything?" He looked expectantly around the room, but because Killjoy couldn't see the rest of the room it looked like he was looking expectantly over her head. His holographic projection nodded. "Very well. You are dismissed."

"Uh, Prowl," said Vibes. "One moment of your time please."

Rising from the table, Killjoy turned to Strongarm. "Since you're here, Strongarm, why don't you escort me to the place where you have all of the Omnicon technology?"

"How do you know my name?"

Killjoy just smiled. "That's a secret. Now… about that technology?"

Looking non-too-happy, Strongarm led the way to the storage facility, which looked like a giant lab turned warehouse with multiple floatable crates and a giant platform that looked exactly like the one from the simulation. The dark atmosphere and the alien environment was not helping the lack of sparks pinging on Killjoy's sensors. Even with Strongarm standing right next to her, she found it easy to believe that she was dead or a zombie or something. Killjoy tried to distract herself.

"I would be interested in seeing the designs for that," she told Strongarm, gesturing to the floating platform. "I could make some improvements."

"Right, we'd show you our technology when you haven't shown us yours." Strongarm crossed her arms. "Do you really expect me to believe that you'd actually just break your own laws just like that? The Omnicons were sticklers for the rules. They wouldn't let us touch anything without first spending weeks checking to see if our equipment was 'capatible' as they said."

"The Omnicons didn't make the laws," Killjoy said. "We did."

"So that puts you above the law?" Strongarm sneered. "You are just like the Decepticons, thinking yourself better than anyone else."

"If I didn't do this, Strongarm, then your Autobot friends would die the moment their ship landed anywhere on this planet."

"That doesn't make it right."

"Yes, but you are hardly in a position to complain. As the **humans** say, don't look a gift **horse** in the mouth."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means, Strongarm, that if you're getting something for free don't check to see how long it will last or complain about how short it is. Appreciate it for what it is in the here and now."

The distraction was barely working. Strongarm had led her through the warehouse until they reach another door, this one attached to a wall that looked like an after thought when they built the room. Beyond the door, which opened like the mouth of an Autobot or Omnibot insignia, a collection of strange and bizarre devices lay slowly rusting away. She recognized a lot of them instantly.

"This isn't Omnicon technology," she said aloud. "This is Omnibot technology."

Strongarm frowned at it. "Isn't Omnibot technology supposed to be more advanced than Omnicon technology?"

Killjoy did a quick inventory of the room; from the groundbridge, to the immobilizer. But the thing that drew her attention was a small human-sized portal tucked away into the corner. It was a dimensional hopper, but only big enough for a human to get through and not something any Omnicon would make without having something to send through.

Like a pretender's pill-bug.

"How long has this been here?"

Strongarm walked over and looked over it with a bored expression as she pulled out a datapad. "It's one of our most recent additions," she said. "It's only been here for one and a half orns."

"Three **weeks** ," she said, her voice cracking. _And they had plenty of time to bring me here. There's no telling how long I've been here._

"Are you… all right?"

Killjoy stared at the device and then attempted a smile, which turned into a grimace. "I don't suppose you have the last coordinates on this thing."

"No. If we could study the technology, then we could have probably acquired those coordinates." Strongarm crossed her arms again, this time out of discomfort.

Killjoy could already feel the tremors in her hand. She forced the emotions away, burying them. Her voice sounded almost dead. "I am fine."

It was obvious to Strongarm that she wasn't. "Do you need some time to yourself?"

"No. That's the last thing I need. All this means is that there is no turning back now." Killjoy straightened into a parade stance. "Have this device destroyed. And that one as well." She pointed at the immobilizer. "Everything else will be valuable to you… and I never saw any of it. Understand?"

"Understood… **horse**."

"…never call me that again."

Strongarm laughed.


End file.
